• 


IRLF 


B    3 


WOOL-GATHERING. 


BY 


GAIL    HAMILTON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "COUNTRY  LIVING  AND  COUNTRY  THINKING,' 

fc"  GALA-DAYS,"   ETC. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 
1867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PlQl 

Raison  d'etre.  —  The  Commissariat. — A  bad  Beginning. 

—  Goths  and  Vandals. — Moral  Reflections.  —  Natural 
History  of  Niagara.  —  The  Badness  of  Women.  —  Moral 
Reflections.  —  The  Goodness  of  Men.  —  More  Moral  Re 
flections.  —  Tact  against  Temper.  —  A  Negation  of  Moral 
Reflections.  —  A  Baby.  —  Two  Babies.  —  Eloquent  Out 
burst  on  Chicago.  —  Chicago  itself.  —  Unhappy  Girl  in 
Chicago.  —  Inexperienced  happy  Pair  in  Chicago  Station. 

—  Experienced  happy  Quartette  in  Chicago  Station. — 
Predisposing  Causes  of  the  happy  Pair.  —  Happy  Family 
in  Chicago  Station.  —  Distressed  Woman  in  Chicago  Sta 
tion.  —  Wisconsin.  —  Distressed  Woman    continued.  — 
Distressed  Woman  concluded.  9 


CHAPTER    II. 

Darwinian  Theory  in  Milwaukee.  —  Milwaukee  itself.  — 
Pottawatomies  in  Newhall  House.  —  Wonderful  Advance 
of  Civilization  in  Milwaukee.  —  Remarkable  Girl  in  Mil-% 
waukee.  —  Saint  Paul  considered  in  his  Relations  to  Mil 
waukee. —  Aged  Party  in  Train.  —  Motherless  Baby  in 
Train.  —  Treatise  on  the  Inalienability  of  motherless  Ba 
bies.  —  A  Woman  bringing  a  Man  to  Time.  —  Coming 
to  Time  herself.  —  A  disagreeable  Damsel.  —  General 


&578471 


iy  CONTENTS. 

Moral  Reflections  on  Railroad  Accommodations.  —  Spe 
cial  Immoralities  in  Railroad  Lack  of  Accommodations. 

—  Model  Conductor.  —  Superhumanly  Model  Conductor. 

—  Evolving  a  Conductor  from  our  Moral  Consciousness. 

—  Depicting  a  Conductor  from  Observation. —  Laying 
down  the   (Higher)  Law.  —  Constant  changing  of  the 
Isothermal  Lines  in  Railway  Trains.  —  Raid  upon  the 
Ventilators.  —  Pitched  Battle  in  the  Train. — Defeat  of 
the  heaviest  Battalions  with  great  Slaughter.  —  Millen 
nium  on  a  Railroad.  —  A  Beetle  bewitched.  —  A  terrible 
Infant.  —  An  accomplished  Young  Lady.  —  Rose-colored 
Nuns.  —  Happy  Teutons.  —  Fine  Writing  on  the  Missis 
sippi  River 40 

CHAPTER   III. 

Parting  Blessing.  —  On  the  Prairie.  —  Sublimity  of  a  Min 
nesota  Farm.  —  A  Violent  Supposition.  —  The  Bearing 
of  the  Earth's  Rotundity  on  Minnesota  Farmers.  — 
Flemish  Painting  of  our  House.  —  Elegant  Extracts 
from  Antique  Rhymes.  —  Bill  of  Fare.  —  Bill  of  Costs. 

—  Self-Help.  —  Second  Self-Help.  —  Outdoors.  —  Farm 
Buildings.  —  Hard  Work,  and  a  good  Deal  of  it.  —  Miti 
gating  the  Curse  by  Machinery.  —  Praiseworthy  attempts 
at  Description.  —  Sentiment  hovering  over  a  Threshing- 
Machine.  —  A  Fling  at  the  "  lower  States  "  in  the  Inter 
est  of  Minnesota.  —  Many  Things.  —  Computing  the 
Gains.  —  Counting  the  Cost 73 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Fruit  Crop  of  Minnesota  compared  with  the  Snakes  of  Ire 
land.  —  Humming.  —  Going  to  Mill.  —  Perambulating 
Ruins  in  Minnesota.  —  Advantages  of  Ruins,  —  Moral 
and  JEsthetic.  —  Vermilion  Falls.  —  County  Fair. — 
Metaphysical  and  Agricultural  Uses  of  a  County  Fair.  — 
Pilgrims'  Progress  to  a  County  Fair.  —  Norsemen  and 


CONTENTS.  v 

.  —  Lcander  on  the  Mississippi  Bottom-lands.  — 
Steamboats  cutting  across  Lots.  —  Spirited  Pursuit  of  a 
County  Fair.  —  Getting  up  Stairs.  —  The  Pursuit  suc 
cessful. —  Exhaustive  Account  of  the  Fair. —  Compari 
son  of  Eastern  and  Western  Cattle-Shows.  —  The 
Mounds  afar.  —  The  River-Ghost.  —  Agassiz  receiving  a 
Call.  —  The  Mounds  at  hand.  —  A  Romance  spoiled. 
—  Philosophic  Explanation  of  the  Mounds.  .  .  .97 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  Result  of  Feeding,  upon  Ambition.  —  Holding  onr 
own  against  the  Pretensions  of  Nature. — A  Rhapsody 
over  a  Covered  Wagon.  —  Expanding  to  the  Occasion. 

—  The  Mississippi  in  a  Decline.  —  Causes  Agricultural 
and  Sentimental.  —  The  Roadside.  —  Sea-Kings  in  Min 
nesota.  —  A  Lakeside  Dinner.  —  Travelling  in  Beulah. 

—  Grass-growing  explained  on  the  true  Principles   of 
Poesy.  —  Doubtful  Roads.  —  Escort  in  the  Air.  —  Dis 
tance     lending    Enchantment.  —  Speculation.  —  Solid 
Ground.  —  Uncertain  Foundations.  —  Busy  Bees.  —  The 
Bridge  that  carries  us  safe  over.  —  Hotel  in  the  Transi 
tion  Era.  —  Pathetic  Discourse  to  Landlords.  —  A  Sur 
plus   of  Boys.  —  Saint    Anthony.  —  Periphrasis    of    a 
Water-Cure  Establishment.  —  Saint  Anthony's  Claims 
to  respect  statistically  considered.  —  Brawl  between  the 
Mississippi  and  Mankind.  —  An  Act  to  amend  the  Act 
of  Creation.  —  A  Bewildered  Saint.  —  An  Appeal  to  a 
Saint's  Good  Sense.  —  Fulfilment  of  Prophecy.  —  Sus 
pension  Bridge.  —  Father   Hennepin's   Temptation.  — 
Minneapolis.  —  A  Memory 115 

CHAPTER    VI. 

The  Pursuit  of  Sentiment  nnder  Difficulties.  —  Lo!  the 
poor  Indian.  —  Hiawatha  rampant.  —  A  Popular  Mistake 
corrected.  —  Minnehaha.  —  Shawondasee  and  Steam-En- 


vi  CONTENTS. 

gines.  —  Emigrants.  —  Milking.  —  Mars  cultivating  the 
Drama.  —  Fort  Snclling.  —  Investigations.  —  Philo- 
logues,  embellished  with  Cuts.  —  A  Glimpse  into  Eden. 

—  A  Lake.  —  A  Dam  or  not  a  Dam.  —  The  Argument. 

—  A  Dam  that  may  be  depended  on.  —  A  Dinner  ditto. 

—  Valedictory 158 

CHAPTER    VII. 

Yarrow  revisited.  —  A  Display  of  Philological  Erudition. 

—  Egyptian    Society.  —  On    the    Ohio.  —  Temptation 
resisted.  —  Piloting.  —  Reliable  History  of  the   Inven 
tion  of  8  team.  —  The  Lost  Found.  —  Visit  to  Mammoth 
Cave.  —  Battle  Phantoms.  —  The  Dethroned  Monarch. 

—  Nashville.  —  Chit-chat.  —  Across   Country.  —  Stone 
River. —  Clay-eaters. — A  Sign-board. — Train  off  the 
Track  potentially.  —  Vagaries  of  the  Country.  —  Look- 
put 184 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

Shady  South.  —  Moppet's  Ideas  of  Things. — A  Charles 
ton  Irishwoman's  Experience  and  Observation.  —  New 
England  in  Chattanooga.  —  Hackmanism  in  Chatta 
nooga.  —  Mars  bearing  a  Clothes-basket.  —  Freedmen's 
Houses.  —  Intelligent  Driver.  —  Military  Ascent  of  Look 
out  according  to  Intelligent  Driver.  —  Civil  Ascent  of 
Lookout.  —  Scenes  within  Scenes.  —  Paying  off  old 
Scores.  —  Historic  Doubts  concerning  Mission  Ridge.  — 
Impossibility  of  Storming  Lookout  —  Storming  Look 
out.  —  Ingenious  Manner  of  giving  one's  self  a  little 
Puff.  —  Doing  one's  Duty  to  the  Rising  Generation.  — 
The  School  on  Mount  Lookout.  —  Reappearance  of  Mars. 

—  A  Bid  for  Flattery.  —  Proposal  to  carry  the  War  into 
Africa.  —  The  African  proving  a  somewhat  Long  Road 
to  Travel,  but  ending  in  Africa  at  last.  —  Neatness  and 
Charm  of  Africa.  —  Revelation  to  an  Ethiop  of  the  Jewel 

in  his  Ear.    He  bears  it  like  a  Man.  —  Reconstruction.  .    215 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTEK    IX. 

Fame  waiting  a  Name.  —  Officers'  Car.  —  Topsy  by 
Night.  — Relieving  Burnside.  —  Knoxville.  —  Comfort 
able  Reflections  for  a  Besieged  Town.  —  Holding  on.  — 
Fort  Saunders.  —  Return  to  Knoxville.  —  The  Dead.  — 
The  Living.  —  New  England.  —  A  Plan  of  Reconstruc 
tion.  —  Pauperism  North  and  South.  —  Hatred,  its 
Causes  and  Cures.  —  Playing  off  the  South  and  West 
against  each  other. 252 

CHAPTER    X. 

East  Tennessee.  —  Historic  Doubts  concerning  Black 
Mountain. — Footprints  of  Fugitives.  —  On  the  War- 
trail. —  Pursuit  of  Knowledge  under  Difficulties.  —  A 
Georgian  Planter.  —  Plantation  Opinions.  —  Off  the 
Track.  —  Northern  Man  with  Southern  Experience.  — 
Accounts  from  Charleston 282 

CHAPTER    XI. 

In  Washington.  —  Arlington.  —  Freedmen's  Village.  —  A 
Patriarch.  —  Comparing  Notes  with  Freedmen  concerning 
Freedom.  —  Mount  Vernon  Colored  Schools.  —  Colored 
Churches.  —  A  (colored)  Representative  of  the  First 
Families  of  Virginia.  —  Gettysburg.  —  Gossip  of  the  Bat 
tle. —  Home.  —  The  Denouement.  .  .  .  304 


WOOL-GATHERING. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Raison  d'etre.  —  The  Commissariat.  —  A  bad  Beginning.  — « 
Goths  and  Vandals.  —  Moral  Eeflections.  —  Natural  History 
of  Niagara.  —  The  Badness  of  Women.  —  Moral  Inflections. 
—  The  Goodness  of  Men.  —  More  Moral  Reflections.  —  Tact 
against  Temper.  —  A  Negation  of  Moral  Reflections.  —  A 
Baby.  —  Two  Babies.  —  Eloquent  Outburst  on  Chicago.  — 
Chicago  itself.  —  Unhappy  Girl  in  Chicago.  —  Inexperienced 
happy  Pair  in  Chicago  Station.  —  Experienced  happy  Quar 
tette  in  Chicago  Station.  —  Predisposing  Causes  of  the  happy 
Pair.  —  Happy  Family  in  Chicago  Station.  —  Distressed 
Woman  in  Chicago  Station.  —  Wisconsin.  —  Distressed  Wo 
man  continued.  —  Distressed  Woman  concluded. 

rBOUT  a  year  ago  I  came  into  posses 
sion  of  a  fortune.  It  was  from  an  en 
tirely  unexpected  source,  and  I  natu 
rally  cast  about  for  the  best  mode  of  investment. 
The  war  was  bravely  over,  and  there  was  no  fur 
ther  need  of  private  contributions  to  prop  up  public 
credit.  Diligent  investigation  showed  that  wool- 
growing  was  a  delightful  and  profitable  occupation, 
i* 


10  WOOL-GATHERING. 

Sheep  are  innocent,  lambs  engaging,  and  wool 
marketable.  I  therefore  despatched  my  agent  to 
Wisconsin,  where  he  bought  twenty-five  sheep,  at 
four  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  head.  This  amounted 
to  one  hundred  and  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents. 
I  gave  him  the  odd  half-dollar  for  commission, 
bade  him  put  the  remaining  twelve  dollars  (I  for 
got  to  mention  that  the  original  fortune  was  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars)  into  the  bank 
against  a  rainy  day,  drive  the  sheep  to  Minnesota, 
and  set  them  spinning,  —  by  metonymy.  He 
wrote  to  me  soon  that  he  had  faithfully  carried  out 
all  my  directions  ;  the  sheep  had  been  bought  and 
driven  home,  and  were  in  good  condition.  He 
added,  however,  that  there  was  always  a  degree 
of  uncertainty  connected  with  the  establishing 
of  a  family  of  sheep.  A  greater  or  less  number 
generally  succumbed  to  the  severity  of  their  first 
winter  in  a  new  climate.  I  wrote  back  at  once 
that  I  did  not  expect  the  order  of  nature  to  be 
changed  for  my  benefit,  but  neither  did  I  wish  to 
be  annoyed  by  dead  sheep  dribbling  through  the 
winter.  It  could  not  be  exhilarating  to  read,  in 
every  letter  that  came,  "  there  is  another  sheep 
frozen."  I  therefore  bade  him  not  write  any  obit- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  H 

uary  notices,  but  wait  till  the  sheep  were  all  dead, 
and  then  say  so. 

I  accordingly  heard  no  bad  news  from  my  sheep. 
And  some  time  during  the  following  summer  word 
came  that  the  sheep-shearing  was  over,  and  my 
agent  was  ready  with  his  first  yearly  report.  It 
was  a  beautiful  document.  It  showed  that  my 
profits  were  two  pounds  of  wool  to  each  sheep. 
This  my  agent  had  sold  for  forty-five  cents  a 
pound,  making  ninety  cents  a  head,  which,  multi 
plied  by  twenty-five  heads,  made  twenty-two  dol 
lars  and  fifty  cents  as  a  year's  interest  of  oae  hun 
dred  and  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  I  have 
verified  this  reckoning  by  geometry  and  the  higher 
mathematics,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  correct  in 
every  particular. 

The  thoughtful  reader  will  not  fail  to  see  that 
twenty-two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  is  a  sum  of 
money  not  to  be  laughed  at,  and  the  question  at 
once  became,  how  to  get  possession  of  it.  The 
United  States  Post-Office  does  not  refund  the 
property  which  it  fails  to  transmit,  and,  consid 
ering  the  heavy  robberies  committed  upon  the 
Adams  Express  Company,  I  could  not  trust  my 
treasure  to  its  keeping.  After  a  severe  mental 


12  WOOL-GATHERING. 

conflict  I  decided  to  go  myself  and  fetch  the 
money.  Commentators  differ  as  to  the  real  mo 
tive  of  my  journey,  but  this  is  the  explanation 
on  which  the  general  opinion  of  foreign  nations 
and  the  next  age  will  finally  settle. 

Aware  that  mankind  is  ever  athirst  for  knowl 
edge,  I  have  decided  to  gratify  it  by  putting  on 
record  some  of  the  more  sagacious  thoughts  which 
naturally  occur  to  the  inquiring  mind  on  its  tour 
round  the  world.  I  shall  not  descend  to  the  trivial 
detp'  *  of  pers,  nal  experience,  which  are  neces- 
sr  >ertir  at  shall  adhere  strictly  to  such 

broa*-"       d  •*.  views  as  have  a  national,  I 

may  an  value.     And  I  shall  from 

ne  t  moral  reflections ;  two  reasons 

impel  me  LO  this  :  mankind  is  fond  of  reading 
moral  reflections  ;  and  I  am  fond  of  making 
them. 

The  first  requisite  for  a  long  journey  is  to  take 
all  your  best  clothes.  A  prejudice  prevails  to 
some  extent  against  this  practice,  and  it  is  indeed 
unwise  if  you  regard  clothes  solely  as  a  means  of 
warmth  ;  but  the  noble  soul  lifts  its  wardrobe  into 
a  higher  sphere,  and  makes  it  an  element  of  char 
acter.  You  may  in  truth  not  need  to  array  your~ 


WOOL-GATHERING.  13 

self  in  all  your  glory,  but  the  consciousness  that 
you  can  do  it  gives  a  peace  of  mind  which  out 
weighs  many  trunks. 

Next  in  importance  to  your  best  clothes  are  two 
bottles  of  Dr.  Hamlin's  cholera  mixture.  When 
I  say  that  Dr.  Hamlin  is  an  Orthodox  Congrega 
tional  clergyman,  I  need  give  no  further  reason 
for  my  recommendation ;  but  I  can  from  my  own 
knowledge  speak  with  confidence  of  the  efficacy 
of  his  medicine.  For  nine  weeks  it  travelled  with 
us  by  field  and  flood,  and  not  one  of  the  party 
had  the  cholera ! 

A  bottle  of  brandy  makes  an  excellent  trav 
elling-companion  if  your  principles  and  habits  are 
good. 

A  box  of  mustard  is  an  ounce  of  prevention. 
If  your  eye-teeth  are  as  yet  at  an  immature  stage 
of  development,  you  will  order  five  bottles  of 
potted  tongue,  beef,  and  herring,  —  small  stone 
jars,  each  one  holding,  judging  from  your  experi 
ence  of  meats,  enough  to  last  through  two  lunches. 
Opening  them,  you  find  them  packed  with  salted 
fire,  of  which  you  can  endure  a  morsel  only  by 
spreading  it  on  a  cracker  with  the  tip  of  your  fruit- 
knife  to  the  last  degree  of  imperceptibility.  If 


14  WOOL-GATHERING. 

any  person  is  designing  to  provision  a  fleet  for 
Arctic  explorations,  let  him  apply  to  the  pub 
lishers  of  this  book  before  purchasing  elsewhere, 
and  he  will  hear  of  something  very  much  to  his 
advantage. 

Beguiled  by  pleasant  memories,  you  will  order 
also  three  dozen  spiced  and  pickled  lambs'  tongues  ; 
and  believe  me,  gentle  reader,  you  have  no  con 
ception  till  you  see  them  together,  how  many 
tongues  thirty-six  spiced  and  pickled  lambs  have  ! 
When  you  reflect  that  these  are  to  be  carried 
about  with  you  till  they  are  eaten,  you  see  that 
lambs  are  not  the  only  innocents  which  are  in  a 
pickle,  and  the  situation  becomes  appalling.  But 
I  forbear. 

Let  us  suppose  now  that  your  various  viands  are 
snugly  bestowed,  and  yourself  fairly  started  on 
your  journey.  The  first  thing  you  know,  your 
basket  bounces  off  the  car-seat,  and  rolls  over  and 
over  down  the  aisle.  There  is  a  rattling  of  crock 
ery,  and  a  sudden  suspicion  that  your  whole  basket 
has  turned  into  a  cholera  mixture.  You  are  too 
much  ashamed  to  take  account  of  stock  in  public, 
but  now  and  then  put  your  nose  down  furtively  to 
the  crack  of  the  lid  to  ascertain  what  smell  seems 


WOOL-GATHERING.  15 

to  be  uppermost,  and  are  relieved  at  the  absence 
of  any  prevailing  perfume.  By  the  time  your 
series  of  observations  are  conducted  to  a  satis 
factory  conclusion  you  are  in  Albany,  the  capital 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  the  seat  of  a  Legis 
lature  remarkable  in  an  age  of  general  upright 
ness  for  the  purity  of  its  morals  and  the  incor 
ruptibility  of  its  legislation. 

Here  we  stop  for  the  night.  The  best  house  in 
Albany  is  said  to  be  the  Vandal  House.  You  are 
shown  into  a  room  that  has  not  been  opened  since 
its  occupant  left  it,  and  is  unsavory  and  untidy  to 
the  last  degree.  An  appeal  to  the  gentlemanly 
clerk  secures  a  change  for  the  better;  but  there 
is  a  hole  by  the  fireplace  in  Number  Two  that 
looks  suspicious.  You  cross-examine  the  por 
ter,  who  assures  you  that  it  has  no  significance 
whatever.  A  mouse  in  that  room  is  an  event  of 
which  history  gives  no  record.  Nevertheless,  you 
take  the  precaution  to  stuff  the  hole  with  an  old 
New  York  Herald,  and  are  awakened  at  midnight 
by  the  dreadful  rustling  of  paper.  A  dreadful 
gnawing  succeeds  the  dreadful  rustling,  and  away 
goes  a  boot  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  There 
is  a  pause  broken  only  by  heart  throbs  !  Then 


1 6  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

another  gnawing,  followed  by  a  boot  till  the  supply 
is  exhausted.  Then  you  begin  on  the  pillows.  A 
longer  pause  gives  rise  to  the  hope  that  order  is 
about  to  reign  in  Warsaw,  and  you  are  just  falling 
asleep  again,  when  a  smart  scratching  close  to 
your  ear,  shoots  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  room 
with  the  conviction  that  the  mouse  is  running  up 
the  folds  of  the  curtain  at  the  head  of  your  bed. 
In  a  frenzy  you  ring  violently,  and  ask  through 
the  door  for  a  chambermaid. 

"  Can't  have  no  chambermaid  this  time  o'  night," 
drawls  the  porter  sleepily. 

"  Then  send  up  a  mouse-trap." 

"  Aint  no  mouse-trap  in  the  house." 

"  Then  bring  a  cat !  " 

"  Dunno  nothin'  about  it,"  and  he  scuffs  his 
slippered  feet  down  the  long  gallery,  growling 
audibly,  poor  fellow,  half  suspecting  evidently  that 
he  is  the  victim  of  a  joke  ;  but  alas  !  it  is  no  joke. 

You  mount  sentry  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  facing 
the  enemy.  Ke  emerges  from  the  curtain,  runs  up 
and  down  the  slats  of  the  blind  in  innocent  glee, 
flaunts  across  the  window-seat,  flashing  every  now 
and  then  into  obscurity ;  and  this  is  the  worst  of 
all.  When  you  see  him  he  is  in  one  place,  but 


WOOL-GATHERING.  If 

when  you  do  not  see  him  he  is  everywhere. 
You  hold  fast  your  umbrella,  and  from  time  to 
time  make  vigorous  raps  on  the  floor  to  keep 
him  out  of  your  immediate  vicinity,  and  so  the 
night  wears  wearily  away.  Your  refreshing  sleep 
turns  into  a  campaign  against  a  mouse,  for  which 
agreeable  entertainment  you  pay  in  the  morning 
three  dollars  and  a  half;  and  the  gentlemanly 
clerk,  with  a  pitying  smile,  informs  you,  "  O,  we 
cannot  help  that !  There  are  mice  all  over  the 
house  ! " 

Moral  reflection :  If  ever  the  education  of  a 
soaring  human  boy  be  intrusted  to  my  care,  I  will 
endeavor  to  model  his  manners  on  those  of  a  clerk 
in  a  hotel.  For  conscious  superiority,  tempered 
with  benevolence  and  swathed  in  suavity  ;  for  per 
fect  self-possession  ;  for  high-bred  condescension 
to  the  ignorance  and  toleration  of  the  weakness  of 
others  ;  for  absolute  equality  to  circumstances,  and 
a  certain  grace,  assurance,  and  flourish  of  bearing, 
—  give  me  a  clerk  in  a  hotel.  We  may  see  gen 
erals,  poets,  and  philosophers,  indistinguishable 
from  the  common  herd  ;  but  a  true  hotel  clerk 
wears  on  his  beauteous  brow,  and  in  his  noble 
mien,  the  indubitable  sign  of  greatness. 


18  WOOL-GATHERING. 

From  Albany  to  Niagara  is  a  pleasant  day's 
journey,  and  the  Niagara  mice  are  not  quite  so 
large,  nor  quite  so  lively,  as  those  of  Eastern  New 
York.  They  do  not  appear  till  the  second  day. 
Then,  resting  quietly  after  a  walk,  you  see  a 
mouse  creep  timidly  from  under  the  bureau.  You 
improvise  a  sort  of  pontoon  bridge  to  the  bell,  out 
of  your  chairs  and  tables,  and,  as  it  is  day-time, 
secure  a  chambermaid  and  superintend  a  mouse- 
hunt.  She  whisks  about  the  room  enthusiasti 
cally,  peers  under  all  the  furniture,  assuring  you 
the  while  that  it  is  four  years  now  she  has  been 
in  the  house  and  never  saw  a  mouse  in  the  cham 
bers,  though  she  confesses  to  having  seen  them  in 
the  kitchen,  and,  being  hard  pressed,  well,  she 
has  seen  them  in  the  passages ;  but  in  the  cham 
bers,  no  !  never  !  and  you  are  led  to  believe  that, 
though  a  mouse  might  stand  shivering  on  the  brink 
of  your  room,  he  would  fear  to  step  foot  over  the 
threshold.  No,  there  is  no  mouse  here,  not  a  sign 
of  a  mouse. 

"  No  sign  of  a  mouse,  except  the  mouse  itself," 
you  suggest. 

"  Ah  !  but  you  must  have  been  mistaken.  It 
was  a  shadow.  Why,"  (with  a  grand  flourish 


WOOL-GATHERING.  19 

of  the  valance  with  her  right  hand,  and  in  the  air 
with  her  left,)  "  you  can  see  for  yourself  there  is 
no  mouse  here,"  —  and  she  thinks  she  has  made 
her  point. 

You  look  at  her,  debating  within  yourself 
whether  it  is  worth  while  to  attempt  to  acquaint 
her  with  the  true  province  of  negatives,  the  proper 
disposition  of  the  burden  of  proof,  and  the  sophis 
try  of  an  undue  assumption  of  the  major  premise, 
and  decide  that  it  is  not. 

Moral  and  philological  reflection  :  We  see  now 
the  reason  why  trunks  and  travelling-bags  are 
called  traps.  Synecdoche :  Because  the  mouse 
traps  are  the  most  important  part  of  your  luggage. 

There  is  said  to  be  a  very  fine  waterfall  at 
Niagara,  but  I  do  not  know  much  about  it.  I 
remember  that  I  did  hear  a  sort  of  rushing  and 
roaring  under  the  window. 

I  will  now  tell  you  a  story.  At  Erie,  a  decently 
dressed  young  woman,  with  a  pale,  fragile -looking 
little  girl  entered  the  car,  and  attempted  to  go,  past 
a  gentleman  to  an  inside  seat.  He  told  her  that 
seat  was  occupied  by  a  person  who  had  just 
stepped  out.  She  pushed  against  him,  still  deter 
mined  to  enter,  and  he  had  to  put  up  his  arm  to 


20  '    WOOL-GATHERING. 

keep  her  out,  but  only  resisting,  not  pushing  her. 
Some  one  then  told  her  that  it  was  the  gen 
tleman's  wife  who  occupied  the  seat.  "  O,  if 
it  was  a  lady,  she  begged  pardon !  She  did  not 
know  it  was  a  lady,"  and  went  a  few  steps  away 
to  take  an  outside  seat  by  a  young  girl.  The  lat 
ter  told  her  that  also  was  engaged.  "  Engaged  !  " 
in  a  loud  voice.  "  Who  engaged  it  ?  How  much 
did  he  pay  for  it  extra  ?  "  And  she  flounced  into 
it  in  a  state  of  high  indignation.  After  the  cars 
started,  the  occupant  of  the  seat  came  in,  looked 
at  her  doubtfully,  and  then  spoke.  Her  reply  was 
not  audible  to  the  other  passengers,  but  it  evi 
dently  startled  him.  He  glanced  around  upon 
the  others,  half  questioning,  half  smiling,  whis 
pered  to  his  young  companion,  and  retreated, 
taking  his  stand  by  the  door.  The  woman  then 
began  to  laugh,  in  a  loud,  boisterous  manner,  and 
a  gentleman  behind  her  beckoned  to  the  one 
whose  seat  she  had  taken,  and,  after  consultation, 
removed  the  girl  from  her  unpleasant  proximity 
to  the  woman,  and  gave  her  his  own  seat.  They 
then  tried  to  induce  the  little  girl  to  sit  with  her 
mother,  but  she,  poor  child,  refused,  and  no  one 
could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  force  her.  Thus, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  21 

by  her  evil  behavior,  the  woman  had  dispos 
sessed  of  their  seats  two  men  and  one  woman, 
and  had  secured  three  seats  for  herself.  When  the 
conductor  came  in  she  gave  him  a  ticket  to  Buf 
falo,  although  she  was  on  a  Cleveland  train.  He 
told  her  she  was  on  the  wrong  train,  must  get  out 
at  the  next  station,  and  wait  for  a  Buffalo  train. 
No,  she  had  changed  her  mind,  and  was  going 
back  to  Cleveland.  Then  she  must  pay  the  fare. 
But  the  fare  was  just  what  she  refused  to  pay, 
proffering  only  her  Buffalo  ticket.  The  brakeman 
was  ordered  in  at  the  next  station,  and  told  to 
take  her  out.  She  was  so  strong  and  so  spirited, 
both  literally  and  figuratively,  that  he  could  not 
do  it,  and  the  conductor  had  to  take  hold  ;  be 
tween  them  both  they  hustled  her  out,  the  little 
girl  crying  and  clinging  to  her,  and  calling,  "  O 
mamma  !  mamma !  "  Fairly  off  the  train,  and 
seeing  herself  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  paying 
or  staying,  she  consented  to  pay,  and  entered  the 
car  again.  At  a  small  station  a  little  farther  on 
she  changed  her  mind  once  more,  and  got  out. 
The  last  seen  of  her,  as  the  train  moved  on,  she 
was  brandishing  her  fist,  and  shouting,  "  I  've  got 
fifty  dollars  in  my  pocket,  —  yes,  a  hundred,  — 


22  WOOL-GATHERING. 

and  I  '11  bet  the  whole  of  it  I  '11  have  that  con 
ductor  licked,  the  minute  I  get  to  Cleveland ! " 

Can  anything  be  more  sad  than  this  ?  Yet  the 
scene  was  not  without  its  pleasant  features.  There 
was  much  good,  honorable,  manly  feeling  shown, 
much  sympathy  by  those  who  only  saw  the  ex 
pulsion,  and  not  its  causes.  In  a  world  where 
women  suffer  so  much  without  pity,  it  is  a  vexa 
tious  thing  to  see  pity  lavished  upon  a  woman  who 
does  not  deserve  it ;  but  it  is  good  to  know  that 
the  warm  heart  is  there.  A  party  of  drovers,  I 
should  think,  men  rough  of  beard  and  gruff  of 
voice,  shook  their  heads.  They  "  hated  to  see  a 
man  lay  hands  on  a  woman."  They  "  never  want 
ed  to  see  a  woman  shoved  about  that  way,  no  mat 
ter  what  she  did.'7  A  crowd  was  continually 
gathering  about  her ;  a  crowd  closed  in  around 
the  scuffle  ;  a  crowd  listened  to  her  haranguing  on 
the  platform ;  but  the  only  violent  words  I  heard 
were  those  which  came  from  her  own  lips.  There 
was  every  disposition  to  give  the  woman  her  own 
way,  simply  because  she  was  a  woman,  yet  there 
was  no  disposition  to  interfere  with  the  legal  right 
of  the  conductor.  Some,  who  thought  the  woman 
was  put  out  for  having  taken  the  wrong  train, 


WO  OL-GA  THE  RING.  23 

maintained  earnestly  that  the  conductor  was  in 
the  wrong.  She  had  a  right  to  change  her  mind. 
No  matter  if  she  did  buy  her  ticket  in  the  morning 
for  Buffalo ;  if  she  wanted  now  to  go  back  to 
Cleveland  she  had  a  right  to  go,  and  the  con 
ductor  had  no  right  to  stop  her. 

Moral  reflections  :  So  doubly  a  pity  is  it  when  a 
woman  misbehaves,  pity  for  the  wrong  she  does  to 
herself,  but  pity  a  thousand  times  more  for  the 
wrong  thus  put  upon  those  to  whom  she  should  be 
the  embodiment  of  beneficence.  The  deference 
which  men  show  to  women  is  no  mere  chance, 
civility,  custom,  or  compliment,  however  they  in 
tend  it.  It  is  instinctive,  and  it  shows  where  a 
woman  has  vantage-ground  to  work  upon  hu 
manity.  When  she  fails  to  meet  this  outcoming 
reverence  with  a  corresponding  worthiness,  her 
failure  is  man's  loss.  Gentle  or  vulgar,  his  soul 
is  wounded  in  its  most  delicate  susceptibilities,  al 
though  he  may  not  know  it.  The  harsh  blow 
blunts  his  sensibility  to  the  soft  touch.  What 
cruel  training  had  wrought  a  coarse,  violent  wo 
man  from  a  tender  little  girl  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  do  know  that  the  cruel  training  had  builded 
worse  than  it  knew.  Beyond  all  its  consequences 


24  WOOL-GATHERING. 

as  an  intelligent  act,  every  woman's  fault  is  every 
man's  misfortune. 

Let  me  tell  you  another  story.  We  are  in  no 
hurry  to  reach  our  journey's  end,  and  if  you  were 
not  reading  this,  the  chances  are  you  would  be 
doing  something  worse. 

A  pleasant  hotel  piazza,  never  mind  where. 
A  sunny  Indian-summer  evening.  Guests  sitting 
about  in  careless  conversation.  Children  playing 
in  the  yard  below.  A  woman,  the  most  striking 
of  all  the  company,  not  exactly  beautiful,  but  with 
a  certain  comeliness,  an  elegance  of  dress  and  de 
meanor,  that  give  a  far  stronger  sense  of  beauty 
than  does  beauty  without  them.  She  is  sitting 
with  that  attractiveness  in  repose  that  bespeaks 
grace  in  motion,  her  wise,  white  fingers  gleaming 
and  glancing  in  the  silken  meshes  of  some  fine, 
feminine  work.  A  young  man  drives  bravely  by 
with  a  young  woman  at  his  side.  A  little  boy,  the 
son  of  the  beautiful  woman,  —  on  the  whole,  she  is 
beautiful,  —  with  a  boy's  carelessness,  lets  fly  his 
arrow  straight  at  one  of  the  high-spirited  horses. 
He  prances  and  curvets  up  the  street,  and  the 
mother  chides  her  boy  for  his  heedless  act.  The 
young  man,  as  soon  as  he  can  curb  his  startled 


WOOL-GATHERING.  25 

horses,  whirls  them  about,  drives  back  furiously 
to  the  hotel,  reins  them  in  suddenly,  and  with 
flashing  eyes  and  angry  color  begins,  —  "I  should 
think  some  of  you  gentlemen,"  —  but  he  never  tells 
his  thought.  Sweeps  down  upon  him  a  vision  of 
grace  and  grandeur  ;  for  the  mother  had  seen  him 
as  he  turned,  divined  the 

"  Thunder  gathering  on  his  brow, 
Lightning  flashing  from  his  eye," 

flung  aside  the  light  entanglements  of  her  hands, 
rose  quickly  as  a  goddess  might  have  risen,  glided 
—  no,  swept  —  I  have  used  the  word  before,  but  I 
know  no  other  to  express  the  dignity  of  her  move 
ment —  swept  down  the  path,  and  flooded  and 
drowned  his  angry  questioning  with  her  full,  clear, 
melodious  voice,  "  Will  you  permit  me,  Sir,  to 
apologize  ? "  The  change  in  the  young  man's 
feelings  and  demeanor  was  so  sudden  and  com 
plete,  as  to  be  almost  ludicrous.  He  had,  as  he 
supposed,  run  full  tilt  against  some  evil-minded 
men,  and  found  instead  a  beautiful  woman  at  his 
feet.  He  had  waged  war,  and  peace  smothered 
him  with  flowers.  His  coat  of  mail  melted  off 
from  him  and  left  him  defenceless.  He  could 
hardly  permit  her  to  tell  her  story.  He  blushed, 


2G  WOOL-GATHERING. 

he  hesitated,  he  apologized  !  and  I  rather  think 
he  rode  away  with  a  vague  conviction  that  he  had 
shot  a  fine  woman. 

There  is  no  moral  to  this  story.  I  told  it  be 
cause  it  is  so  pretty  a  picture  in  my  memory 
that  I  like  to  unfold  it. 

All  this  time  we  have  heen  rushing  on  through 
the  interminable  wild  rain,  and  the  interminable 
tame  prairies,  broad  levels  of  marsh  and  field,  — 
Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  —  fertile  and  fair  in  the 
sunshine  perhaps,  but  inexpressibly  dismal  and 
water-soaked  now.  And  here  is  a  little  Western 
baby,  who  puts  us  all  to  shame  with  his  philosophy. 
A  handsome  little  fellow  is  he,  scarcely  two  years 
old,  travelling  with  a  stranger,  a  man  whom  he 
has  seen  but  for  a  day.  Yet  he  left  grandmother, 
and  Kitty,  and  the  old  homestead,  with  only  one 
little  wail  at  parting,  and  now  rides  away  munch 
ing  his  "  fancy-cake  "  like  a  stoic.  He  plays,  he 
chatters  with  his  stranger  friend,  he  lies  down  on 
the  seat  and  sleeps,  and  when  there  is  a  stir  among 
his  colors  and  his  friend  says,  "  Waking  up,  Fred 
dy  ?  "  Freddy  pipes  out  his  little  "  ish  "  cheerily, 
and  rubs  his  little  fist  in  his  black  eyes,  and  stares 
about  content.  I  do  not  know,  Freddy.  Such 


WOOL-GATHERING.  27 

equanimity  is  suspicious.  Is  it  suppression  or  des 
titution  of  feeling  ?  Is  it  your  good  training  or 
your  defective  organization  ?  Cry  a  little,  Freddy, 
shy  a  little,  Freddy,  for  very  shame.  I  am  afraid 
there  is  a  cold  little  heart  under  your  scarlet  frock, 
and  that  by  and  by  the  cold  little  heart  will  grow 
and  grow,  —  out  of  the  memory  of  the  scarlet  frock, 
out  of  the  sight  of  bright  black  eyes ;  and  some 
where  there  will  be  a  bad,  hard  man  to  wife  and 
child.  But  let  us  not  take  time  by  the  forelock. 
And  here,  in  a  dingy  little  village,  in  the  cold, 
clouded  early  morning,  comes  a  Western  woman, 
driving  a  two-horse  wagon  up  to  the  dingy  little 
station,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  another  at 
her  side.  She  sits  in  the  wagon  holding  the 
horses,  while  her  mother,  an  old,  gray-headed 
woman,  climbs  out  over  the  high  wheel  alone. 
She  has  come  in  that  wagon,  she  tells  us,  more 
than  seven  miles  before  eight  o'clock,  through  this 
comfortless  morning,  on  her  weary  way,  a  hundred 
miles,  to  visit  a  sick  daughter ;  and  the  other 
daughter,  whose  husband  is  also  ill,  must  drive 
home  alone  with  her  babies.  They  are  energetic 
women,  and  I  praise  their  energy ;  but  I  do  not 
praise  that  state  of  things  which  writes  its  story  in 


28  WOOL-GATHERING. 

deep  lines  of  toil  and  anxiety  on  brow,  and  cheek, 
and  lip.  Until  it  can  be  helped  we  must  bear  it, 
but  we  have  not  learned  our  best  life  so  long  as  we 
have  weather-beaten  faces  of  women. 

And  now  we  thunder  over  the  vast  plain  near- 
ing  the  great  city  of  the  West.  The  blue  lake, 
lord  at  once  and  vassal,  lies  tranquil  and  splendid 
at  her  feet.  The  sun  comes  out  to  do  her  honor, 
and  give  us  a  triumphant  entrance.  Roof  and 
spire  and  dome  are  gilded  with  his  shining,  and 
she  sits  proudly  in  a  state  befitting  her  royal  name. 
It  is  the  city  of  the  future,  holding  out  welcoming 
hands  to  the  wanderers  of  the  past.  It  is  Peace 
and  Plenty  and  Prosperity,  crowned  on  their 
happy  shore,  inviting  all  comers  to  such  princely 
cheer  as  changes  want  into  wealth,  and  for  the 
silence  of  stagnation  gives  songs  of  a  thousand- 
stringed  lyre. 

But  when  you  get  into  it  !  Lyre  indeed  ! 
The  word  has  an  ominous  echo.  O  my  Queen, 
the  diadem  shines  glorious  on  your  brow,  but 
woe  is  me  for  your  draggled  petticoats  !  Through 
slimy  street  after  slimy  street  the  sluggish  train 
creeps  on.  The  track  is  wellnigh  buried  in  liquid 
mud.  The  unhappy  houses  are  set  down  all 


WOOL-GATHERING.  29 

straggling  in  a  huge  mud-puddle.  The  back 
yards  are  mire,  and  mire  oozes  up  to  the  front 
door.  Cholera  !  one  might  pray  for  its  advent  as 
an  angel  of  mercy. 

Through  the  Slough  of  Despond,  the  train  trails 
reluctantly  into  a  barn,  as  I  judge  in  the  dull  twi 
light  of  noonday.  There  is  no  discoverable  wait 
ing-room,  and  we  cross  the  city  at  once  to  the 
Milwaukee  Station,  and  spend  the  laggard  hours 
in  a  state  of  desperate  homesickness,  in  a  desolate, 
comfortless,  cold  room.  A  forbidding,  leaden  sky, 
cold,  fierce  winds,  streets  heavy  with  mud,  cars, 
carriages,  carts,  steamer  and  sail-craft  crammed  to 
gether  under  the  station  windows,  all  struggling 
and  all  muddy ;  and  when  the  struggle  becomes 
too  severe,  the  very  bridges  begin  to  writhe,  and 
the  whole  earth  seems  a-squirm.  And  this  is 
Chicago,  and,  alas  !  I  know  a  girl  who,  besides 
being  just  married,  must  go  to  Chicago,  and  live 
all  the  days  of  her  life !  The  longer  we  stay  in 
this  cheerless  room,  the  more  and  more  gloomy 
seems  Chicago,  and  it  spreads  and  spreads,  and 
enshrouds  the  whole  West.  But  here  are  the 
human  beings  that  bring  their  own  story  with 
them.  There  is  a  pretty  young  Irish  girl,  with 


30  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

her  tall,  awkward,  blushing  bridegroom,  not  any 
more  at  ease  for  his  unwonted  black  broadcloth 
and  his  high,  stiff  hat.  They  are  both  perfectly 
fresh,  and  life  is  full  of  new  sensations.  There  is  a 
family,  —  the  father  red-faced,  sandy -haired,  very 
ugly,  deformed  in  one  arm,  defaced  in  one  eye,  and 
shabbily  dressed,  —  the  mother  plain,  and  dressed 
with  a  sort  of  easy  decency,  as  if  she  might  have 
had  finer  clothes  if  she  had  chosen,  but  her 
clothes  are  good  enough,  —  one  bright  little  girl, 
and  one  baby.  They  have  managed  somehow  to 
get  at  the  heart  of  things.  They  are  full  of  con 
tent.  The  husband  and  wife  are  absorbed  in  each 
other  and  in  the  children,  without  any  silly  or  self 
ish  demonstration  of  affection.  The  woman's  posi 
tion  is  exactly  what  it  ought  to  be.  She  is  the 
centre  of  interest,  the  motive  power,  the  final 
cause.  She  constitutes  the  home.  He  is  the 
strong  wall  round  about,  sheltering  and  fending. 
She  is  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  warming  and  light 
ing.  He  takes  care  of  the  children  with  that  wis 
dom  that  bespeaks  habit  and  tact.  He  fondles  the 
little  one  till  it  crows  with  delight.  She  looks  on 
smiling,  calm,  and  restful,  and  pleasant.  He  too 
is  restful.  He  is  at  peace.  They  came  together, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  31 

not  at  first  from  any  overpowering  attachment,  but 
both  felt  an  inward  yearning  for  home  and  care 
and  love.  Both  had  felt  the  world's  rough  side. 
Both  were  outwardly  unattractive,  and  each  was  a 
little  grateful  as  well  as  glad  for  the  other's  atten 
tion.  They  had  the  sense  to  discern  each  other's 
good  qualities,  and  to  appreciate  the  happiness  of 
companionship  and  confidence.  They  learned  to 
value  each  other,  —  yes,  and  to  love  each  other, 
and  are  a  thousand  times  happier  than  many  who 
marry  for  love,  but  have  not  wisdom  to  see  what 
love  needs  to  keep  its  fires  burning. 

This  is  all  theory,  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  more  true 
than  many  facts,  and  you  might  spend  your  time 
to  worse  account  in  a  dismal  railroad  station. 

There  is  another  family  group  whom  I  fancy 
to  be  typical  Western  people,  —  father,  mother, 
daughter,  and  granddaughter.  They  are  comfort 
ably  and  plainly,  but  not  shabbily  nor  fashionably 
dressed.  They  are  of  country  stock.  They  are 
not  awkward,  nor  self-conscious,  nor  forward. 
They  simply  mind  their  own  business  and  do 
not  stare.  (Neither  do  I !  I  am  absorbed  in 
lambs'  tongues.)  They  are  intelligent ;  they  know 
what  is  going  on  in  the  world.  They  have  a 


32  WOOL-GATHERING. 

keen  relish  for  and  perception  of  humor,  and  a 
big  tin  luncheon-pail  with  a  light  cover,  holding 
"goodies  "  enough  to  last  a  week,  —  chicken,  and 
white  bread,  and  pies.  The  grandmother  is  an 
invalid.  Her  pale,  wasted  face  tells  of  suffering, 
but  it  is  sweet,  and  motherly  too,  and  it  has  by 
no  means  lost  its  shrewdness  and  its  fun.  The 
wife,  her  daughter,  is  tired  and  worn,  but  the  fun 
is  in  her  black  eyes  too.  The  father  is  pale  and 
bent,  but  cheerful.  They  have  had  a  hard  life, 
but  it  has  not  been  an  unhappy  one  on  the 
whole.  Affection  has  warmed  it,  and  a  sense  of 
the  ludicrous  has  lighted  and  relieved  it. 

There  is  another  old  woman,  with  a  prominent 
Roman  nose,  sharp  chin,  and  eager,  anxious  eyes. 
The  difference  between  the  two  old  ladies  is  really 
striking.  They  are  both  in  the  same  position  in 
life ;  but  one  has  character,  the  other  has  none. 
One  is  refined,  the  other  unrefined,  but  nothing 
more,  —  not  positively  coarse,  but  without  enough 
cohesion  to  take  a  polish.  One  would  be  at  home 
and  respected  anywhere,  the  other  nowhere.  The 
latter  is  so  full  of  anxiety  that  one  pities  her,  and 
would  gladly  give  her  aid,  but  no  aid  avails.  It  is 
impossible  to  relieve  her.  Her  restlessness  is  be- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  33 

yond  reason.  She  attaches  herself  to  every  one 
that  comes  in.  She  has,  as  we  say  in  the  country, 
a  finger  in  every  pie.  I  saw  her  at  first  in  com 
pany  with  the  pleasant  family,  and  supposed  she 
belonged  to  them.  The  granddaughter  came  in 
bearing  the  invalid's  pillow.  "  Here,  set  that 
down  here,"  said  the  anxious  old  woman,  with  an 
air  of  being  one  of  the  family.  When  they 
lunched  she  drew  up  and  lunched  with  them,  but 
from  her  own  bag.  Of  all  that  came  in  she  asked 
the  same  question,  in  a  harsh,  dull,  monotonous 
voice,  —  "  You  going  to  Milwaukee  ?  "  Generally 
she  queried  further,  if  they  knew  what  cars  they 
were  going  to  take,  and  how  they  were  going  to 
know.  She  is  in  a  fever  lest'  the  train  should  go 
without  her,  though  assured  that  it  is  still  two 
hours  before  the  time  of  starting,  and  that  we  are 
all  going  in  the  same  train.  If  a  person  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  looks  at  his  watch,  she  calls 
out  to  know  what  time  it  is,  and  if  it  is  not  most 
time  to  go.  The  young  girl  leaves  the  room,  and 
she  bids  her  be  back  soon,  as  it  is  most  time  to  go. 
She  thinks  the  husband  is  gone  a  long  time,  and 
tells  the  wife  she  is  afraid  she  wont  find  her  father ! 
"  O  yes!  "  says  the  wife,  with  a  smothered  twinkle 

2*  0 


34  WOOL-GATHERING. 

in  her  black  eyes,  "  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  find 
my  father!"  She  informs  the  assembly  generally, 
without  addressing  any  one  in  particular,  that  she 
is  on  her  way  to  visit  her  daughter ;  that  she  is 
not  accustomed  to  travelling,  and  has  already" 
gone  one  day  wrong ;  but  she  is  right  now.  She 
has  to  go  from  Chicago  to  Milwaukee,  from  Mil 
waukee  to  Sheboygan,  and  from  Sheboygan  to 
Wisconsin. 

"  Where  in  Wisconsin  do  you  go  ?  "  asks  some 
one  disposed  to  assist  her. 

"  Go  from  Chicago  to  Milwaukee,  from  Milwau 
kee  to  Sheboygan,  and  from  Sheboygan  to  Wis 
consin." 

"  Yes,  but  Sheboygan  is  in  Wisconsin.  When 
you  get  to  Sheboygan,  where  do  you  go  next  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  where  I  am  going,  —  from  Chicago 
to  Milwaukee,  from  Milwaukee  to  Sheboygan,  and 
from  Sheboygan  to  Wisconsin.  Yes." 

Who  can  give  help  to  such  a  muddled  brain  ? 

In  due  time  the  train  is  pushed  up,  and  the 
station  empties  itself  into  the  cars.  "  I  should 
like  to  sit  with  you,"  says  the  old  woman  to  the 
wife ;  but  the  wife  intimates  that  she  is  hoping 
to  have  a  seat  by  herself,  and  get  a  little  sleep. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  35 

"  Well,  I  '11  sit  on  this  side  then."  (Assuringly,) 
"  I  '11  keep  close  to  you  !  " 

Up  we  go  swiftly  into  Wisconsin.  It  rains 
and  rains  and  rains;  what  is  the  weather  think 
ing  about?  But  the  rain  is  drenching  and 
downright  and  wholesome,  not  sulky  and  non 
committal  ;  and  there  are  hills  and  deep  woods, 
a  gentle,  smiling  verdure,  a  fresh,  clear,  pleasant 
country,  and  we  take  courage  again.  Even 
through  the  rain  Wisconsin  looks  homelike,  as 
if  one  might  bring  hither  heartsomely  his  house 
hold  gods ;  and  I  marvel  why,  with  so  much 
land  in  the  country,  it  should  have  been  thought 
advisable  to  tuck  in  Indiana  and  Illinois.  They 
seem  but  huge  quagmires,  stale,  flat,  and  unprof 
itable,  that  one  must  traverse  from  solid  ground 
to  solid  ground.  They  could  so  well  be  spared 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  would  agree 
ably  simplify  the  geography. 

But  our  anxious  friend,  who  subsided  a  little 
when  she  was  fairly  in  the  car,  is  again  rapidly 
working  herself  up  into  a  violent  ferment.  At 
every  station  she  asks  her  neighbor  in  front  if 
this  is  Milwaukee.  "  O  no !  we  shall  not  get 
to  Milwaukee  this  long  while."  Straightway  she 


36  WOOL-GATHERING. 

appeals  to  her  neighbor  behind,  "  This  is  n't  Mil- 
wankee,  is  it?"  And  hardly  waiting  for  a 
reply,  she  trots  to  the  other  side  of  the  car  to 
inquire  eagerly  if  this  is  Milwaukee.  After  be 
ing  told,  perhaps  six  times,  that  it  is  not  Mil 
waukee,  she  begins  to  harbor  a  suspicion  that  it 
is  not,  and  trots  back  to  her  seat  and  places  her 
self  on  the  edge  of  it,  with  her  hand  on  the  back 
of  the  one  in  front,  ready  to  start  in  case  the  vil 
lage  should  pop  up  at  any  time  and  declare  itself 
Milwaukee.  Her  semi-quiescence  continues  till 
the  conductor  comes  in.  Him  she  plies  with  ques 
tions  by  the  time  he  stops  within  four  feet  of  her. 
She  improves  the  time  while  he  is  examining  her 
ticket.  She  twists  around,  and  continues  the  con 
sultation  till  he  is  hopelessly  past  her.  Then  she 
springs  up,  and  follows  him  down  the  aisle,  talking 
in  the  same  monotone  till  the  door  closes  behind 
him,  when  she  comes  bacK  murmuring  abstract 
edly,  "  Milwaukee  to  Sheboygan,  Sheboygan  to 
Wisconsin," — and  everybody  looks  at  each  other 
with  a  great  show  of  sobriety.  Whenever  a  new 
passenger  enters  she  impresses  him  into  her  ser 
vice.  He  thinks  she  is  a  lonely,  unprotected 
woman,  and  kindly  and  impressively  tries  to  make 


WOOL-GATHERING.  37 

the  route  clear  to  her,  to  the  amusement  of  the 
other  passengers  ;  but  he  presently  discovers  the 
impracticability  of  his  attempt,  and  quietly  falls 
into  the  ranks  of  the  initiated.  "  I  'm  alone  and  I 
ain't  accustomed  to  travelling,"  she  occasionally 
meditates  aloud,  in  her  deep,  hard,  uncadenced 
voice. 

"  Yes,"  says  another,  making  one  more  attempt 
to  soothe  her,  for  her  trepidation  is  so  extreme  as 
to  be  quite  pitiful,  although  so  ridiculous  ;  "  but 
there  are  plenty  of  people  who  know  all  about 
travelling,  and  they  have  promised  to  see  that  you 
get  out  and  get  in  at  the  right  places,  and  —  " 

"  But  they  did  n't  tell  me  how  I  should  go  from 
Milwaukee  to  Sheboygan,  and  She  —  " 

"  Because  you  ask  so  many  questions  so  many 
times  that  you  become  confused,,  and  do  not  know 
what  is  said  to  you.  Now  "  (soothingly)  u  you 
will  be  quite  tired  out  if  you  keep  walking  around, 
and  worrying  all  the  time." 

"  Yes,"  from  the  very  bottom  of  her  poor  old 
heart. 

"  Well,  then,  be  quiet  and  rest  till  we  get  to 
Milwaukee,  and  you  shall  certainly  be  put  safely 
on  your  way  to  Sheboygan." 


38  WO  OL-GA  THERING. 

And  by  the  time  her  friendly  adviser  is  fairly 
seated,  I  turn  my  head  to  see  the  evil  spirit  of 
unrest  entering  into  the  woman,  and  driving  her 
down  the  aisle,  head  forward,  in  her  bootless  quest 
for  Milwaukee. 

When  the  baggage-agent  enters  the  car,  some 
one  requests  him  to  take  charge  of  the  wanderer. 
He  may^  be  a  kind-hearted  man  and  glad  to  do  it, 
but  if  he  is  hard-hearted  and  loath  he  cannot  very 
well  help  himself.  She  tells  her  story  with  zest, 
and  he  promises  to  take  care  of  her.  At  the 
station  a  lively  little  colloquy  springs  up.  One 
says  the  boat  does  not  go,  and  the  wanderer  must 
stay  at  a  hotel;  another  says  the  boat  does  go, 
and  at  any  rate  it  is  lying  at  the  wharf,  and  she 
can  stay  on  board ;  another  says  she  should  not  be 
in  Milwaukee  at  all,  —  that  she  should  have  taken 
boat  at  Grand  Haven  and  gone  directly  across  to 
Sheboygan  ;  and  a  fourth  affirms  that  she  was 
right  to  come  around,  as  it  would  not  have  been 
safe  to  cross  the  lake  in  such  a  storm ;  —  all  of 
which  is  very  quieting  to  the  disturbed  lady.  It 
is  decided  at  length  that  she  shall  go  to  the"  boat, 
and  the  baggage-agent  brings  a  man  to  take  her 
thither.  But  she  believes  in  the  baggage-agent, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  39 

and  does  not  believe  in  the  boatman,  and  with 
woman's  devotion  she  clings  to  her  first  love. 
The  first  love,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  finds 
her  clinging  decidedly  troublesome,  and  has  almost 
to  push  her  away.  Finally,  the  boatman  walks 
off  indifferently  in  one  direction,  the  baggage-man 
in  another,  and  the  unhappy  woman  writhes  a 
moment,  turning  towards  each  in  an  agony  of 
doubt,  but  at  length  follows  the  boatman.  My 
last  picture  of  her  is  a  silhouette  :  a  man  with 
a  lantern,  walking  off  with  easy  strides  through 
the  rain  and  the  darkness  ;  a  woman  hurrying 
after  him,  with  long,  uneasy  strides,  in  lank,  drip 
ping  skirts,  —  hurrying  madly  from  Milwaukee  to 
Sheboygan,  and  from  Sheboygan  to  Wisconsin. 

Girls,  this  is  every  word  true,  or  rather  every 
incident  true.  Be  careful,  then,  to  exercise  what 
little  sense  you  have  while  you  are  young,  lest 
when  you  become  old  you  find  suddenly  that  you 
have  no  sense  to  exercise. 


CHAPTER    II  . 


Darwinian  Theory  in  Milwaukee.  —  Milwaukee  itself.  —  Potta- 
watomies  in  Newhall  House.  —  "Wonderful  Advance  of  Civiliza 
tion  in  Milwaukee.  —  Remarkable  Girl  in  Milwaukee.  —  Saint 
Paul  considered  in  his  Relations  to  Milwaukee.  —  Aged  Party 
in  Train.  —  Motherless  Baby  in  Train.  —  Treatise  on  the  Ina 
lienability  of  motherless  Babies.  —  A  "Woman  bringing  a  Man 
to  Time.  —  Coming  to  Time  herself.  —  A  disagreeable  Dam 
sel.  —  General  Moral  Reflections  on  Railroad  Accommodations. 

—  Special  Immoralities  in  Railroad  Lack  of  Accommodations. 

—  Model  Conductor.  —  Superhumanly  Model  Conductor.  — 
Evolving  a  Conductor  from  our  Moral  Consciousness.  —  De 
picting  a   Conductor  from  Observation. —  Laying  down  the 
(Higher)  Law.  —  Constant  changing  of  the  Isothermal  Lines 
in  Railway  Trains. — Raid  upon  the  Ventilators.  —  Pitched 
Battle  in  the  Train.  —  Defeat  of  the  heaviest  Battalions  with 
great    Slaughter.  —  Millennium  on   a  Railroad.  —  A  Beetle 
bewitched.  —  A   terrible   Infant.  —  An   accomplished  Young 
Lady.  —  Rose-colored  Nuns.  —  Happy  Teutons.  — Fine  "Writ 
ing  on  the  Mississippi  River. 

N  Milwaukee  we  are  forcibly  impressed 
with  the  growth  and  grandeur  of  the 
West.  So  favorable  are  the  climatic 
conditions  of  that  garden  of  America,  that  the 
mice  run  rank  into  rats.  This  is  not  fascinat 
ing  to  the  traveller,  still  it  is  better  than  Albany 


WOOL-GATHERING.  41 

and  Niagara.  Rats  if  not  winning  are  tangible. 
I  should  not  go  so  far  as  to  make  pets  of  them,  as 
they  do  at  the  Newhall  House  ;  but  I  mention  the 
fact  of  their  transmutation  as  an  interesting  item 
of  natural  history,  and  an  additional  confirmation 
of  the  Darwinian  theory  of  development.  Here 
we  have  what  has  long  been  desired,  —  an  actual 
example  of  the  transmutation  of  species. 

Milwaukee  is  a  fair  city  in  a  fair  country.  It 
rains  here  all  the  time,  but  the  rain  comes  down 
with  spirit  on  clean  pavements,  and  is  spiritedly 
spattered  back.  The  whole  city  looks  hard  and 
sound.  It  is  built  of  the  soft  cream-colored  brick 
which  its  own  brick-kilns  furnish,  and  it  seems 
solid,  old,  durable. 

It  surprises  me,  this  Milwaukee.  Why,  am  I 
then  antiquity  ?  But  I  remember  when  Wis 
consin  was  a  Territory,  and  a  Territory  seemed  a 
wild  savage  terra  incognita,  ravaged  by  "  Winne- 
bagoes,  TFmnebagoes,  Poftawatomies,  Ptfttawato- 
mies,  $£-oose,  ££-oose,"  as  we  used  to  repeat  in 
concert,  with  swaying,  sonorous  sing-song.  Yet 
here  is  a  change  from  an  ancient  to  a  modern 
world.  For  Pottawatomies  and  Winnebagoes,  is 
a  huge  hotel,  are  velvet  sofas  and  chairs  and 


42  WOOL-GATHERING. 

carpets ;  small,  social  round  tables  in  the  din 
ing-room,  each  one  adorned  with  flowers ;  printed 
bills  of  a  fare  as  profuse  and  varied  and  recherchS 
as  any  in  old  Eastern  cities,  and  as  well  cooked 
as  in  most  of  them ;  purple  and  scarlet  and  fine- 
twined  linen.  It  is  so  extravagantly  rainy  that 
we  cannot  go  out,  but  the  obliging  landlord  — 
he  must  have  been  the  landlord,  for  he  lacked 
that  polished  and  elaborate  urbanity  which  dis 
tinguishes  the  hotel  clerk,  —  besides  he  laughed 
heartily  upon  occasion,  which  would  be  deleterious 
to  clerical  dignity  —  the  obliging  landlord  does  his 
best  to  make  up  for  it  by  taking  us  over  his  house, 
from  turret  to  foundation-stone.  Four  hundred 
rooms  have  the  Pottawatomies  in  which  to  bestow 
themselves  ;  four  hundred  rooms,  furnished,  some 
with  luxury  and  even  elegance,  all  with  decency 
and  comfort,  heated  by  steam,  and  provided  with 
hot  and  cold  baths.  It  might  be  conjectured  that 
the  Pottawatomies  would  stand  afar  off  and  dance 
a  war-dance  of  surprise  and  admiration  around 
the  marvellous  house  ;  but  we  are  assured  that 
only  last  week  they  rushed  in  and  filled  all  these 
rooms  to  overflowing,  and,  for  aught  that  appears 
to  the  contrary,  handled  their  napkins  and  flower- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  43 

vases  and  bell-ropes  and  bath-tubs  as  decorously  as 
Eastern  savages.  From  the  top  of  the  house  we 
behold  the  glory  of  the  city,  the  fair  young  city, 
dimpling  softly  to  her  valleys,  rising  gently  to  her 
hills, — glory  of  church-spire  and  school-house,  and 
the  softer  glory  of  happy  homes.  I  see  them 
shining  dimly  through  the  rain,  draped  with  vines 
and  warm  with  a  cheerful  glow.  Taste  and  com 
fort  and  content  are  surely  there,  for  energy  alone 
could  never  make  this  Wisconsin  wilderness  blos 
som  in  such  roses.  A  single  fact  well  shows  how 
rapidly  the  course  of  empire  has  taken  its  west 
ward  way.  Only  in  1840  there  was  but  a  single 
school  in  Milwaukee,  with  twenty-five  scholars  ; 
now,  there  are  three  hundred  lager-beer  shops ! 

And  there  is  a  girl  in  Milwaukee,  I  do  not 
know  her  name,  of  whom  her  male  friends, 
chatting  in  the  hotel  parlor,  speak  thus :  "  She 
is  accomplished,  lively,  agreeable,  admirable,  — 
why  is  she  not  married  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  says  another,  smiling,  yet  earnest, 
"  it  is  because  she  is  so  intensely  in  love  with 
her  mother.  You  have  only  to  start  a  conver 
sation  with  either  of  them  on  the  subject  of  the 
other,  and  they  are  eloquent." 


44  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

This  is  high  art  and  high  nature  in  civilization,  — 
an  affection  between  parent  and  child  so  strong  as 
to  be  absorbing  and  exclusive.  For  it  will  absorb 
nothing  bad,  will  exclude  nothing  good.  A  heart 
so  fixed  will  not  be  likely  ever  to  loose  its  hold. 
Occupied  already  with  a  strong,  pure  love,  it  is  in 
little  danger  of  being  dispossessed  by  a  weak  or 
worthless  one.  Nothing  but  integrity  and  cou 
rage  and  capacity,  one  would  say,  can  enter  there. 
Happy  mother  and  happy  daughter  !  Happy  man, 
too,  who  shall  one  day  come  and  see  and  conquer  ! 

Away  from  Milwaukee,  straight  in  among  Sioux 
and  Winnebagoes  and  Pottawatomies.  Without, 
all  is  rain  and  darkness,  tomahawks  and  scalping- 
knives  and  the  smoky  glare  of  pitch-pine  torches  ; 
within,  the  mild  glow  of  lamps,  the  satin-wood 
and  velvet  of  civilization.  Rushing  through  the 
night,  to  my  eyes,  gazing  steadfastly  forward  see 
ing  nothing,  comes  suddenly  a  quiver  and  fire  in 
the  curved  letters  above  the  car-door,  — 


^\  **, 

Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul.     Late-born  city  of  a 


WOOL-GATHERING.  45 

late-born  continent,  never  dreamed  of  by  Paul. 
A  sleeping  princess  resting  on  the  shores  of  her 
beautiful,  broad  lake,  veiled  in  enchanted  slum 
bers  these  eighteen  hundred  years,  while  Paul 
and  his  fifty  generations  have  risen  to  the  light 
and  gone  down  to  the  darkness  in  an  undisputed 
apostolic  succession.  Now  she  wakes  from  her 
lovely  sleep,  she  fronts  the  ruddy  dawn,  and  the 
sunlight  of  Paul's  Holy  Land  touches  her  youth 
ful  brow  with  the  splendor  of  the  morning.  What 
wizard  hand  has  suddenly  and  silently  bridged 
this  gulf  of  time  and  space,  and  set  the  old 
name  and  the  new  side  by  side,  in  a  union 
so  harmonious  and  so  obvious  that  the  world 
sees,  unastonished,  and  as  though  it  had  not 
seen? 

Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul.  Does  he  know,  I 
wonder,  in  his  heavenly  habitations,  how  green 
his  memory  lives  in  this  new  world  ?  Does  he 
see  the  strong  city  springing  up  in  the  wilderness, 
midway  between  two  oceans,  centre  of  a  great 
and  growing  nation,  centre  of  a  far-stretching 
continent  that  rose  from  the  undreamed  solitude 
of  the  sea  hundreds  of  years  after  his  death, 
baptizing  itself,  in  all  its  young  vigor  and  its 


46  WOOL-GATHERING. 

high  hope,  with  the  name  of  the  martyr  who 
died  a  death  of  violence  and  shame  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago  ?  And  if  he  does  know  it, 
I  wonder  if  he  cares.  Yes,  as  a  martyr  may, 
not  as  a  Caesar  might. 

Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul.  The  very  words  are 
a  lesson  of  honor  and  trust,  of  the  futility  of  con 
vention,  of  the  immortality  of  principle.  And 
sorely  our  young  nation  needs  them  in  her  head 
long  chase  for  good.  Many  men  lived  in  Paul's 
day  who  wrought  madly  for  earthly  glory  and 
honor  and  immortality,  and  history  gives  us  not 
so  much  as  the  record  of  a  name.  Paul  deter 
mined  to  know  nothing  among  his  generation 
save  Jesus  Christ  and  him  crucified,  and,  through 
out  a  world  grown  tenfold  greater  than  Paul  ever 
knew,  his  fame  shines  with  a  steady,  serene,  and 
ever-increasing  brightness.  Leaving  house,  and 
parents,  and  brother,  and  wife,  and  child,  for  the 
kingdom  of  God's  sake,  he  has  received  manifold 
more  in  this  present  time,  and  in  the  world  to 
come  life  everlasting. 

There  is  an  old  couple  in  the  car,  husband  and 
wife,  well  on  towards  seventy,  another  woman 


WOOL-GATHERING.  47 

and  a  man,  all  strangers  to  each  other,  all  grand 
fathers  and  grandmothers;  nice,  honest  people, 
who  never  quarrelled  with  the  existing  order  of 
things.  They  while  away  the  time  with  a  great 
deal  of  interesting,  commonplace  conversation, 
showing  a  remarkable  unanimity  of  opinion. 
There  is  also  a  young  man  with  an  infant  in 
his  arms.  He  leaves  the  train  at  a  way-station, 
and  one  of  the  company  tells  the  other  what  he 
has  gathered  of  the  young  man's  story.  His  wife 
has  died  within  a  few  weeks,  and  this  baby  is  the 
youngest  of  four  children.  He  has  given  it  away 
to  some  one  in  this  village  where  we  are  waiting. 
They  all  pity  the  poor  child.  One  tender-hearted 
old  woman  has  a  great  deal  of  feelin'  for  it.  She 
knows  how  to  sympathize.  Her  own  daughter 
died,  leaving  a  little  child.  They  hope  this  child 
will  be  taken  good  care  of.  Probably  it  will,  for  it 
is  going  to  live  with  a  relative  of  its  mother.  It 
seems  not  to  occur  to  any  of  them  that  there  can 
be  wrong  in  the  father's  giving  away  his  child.  I 
long  to  say  to  them :  Good,  kind  people,  father 
ly  men,  motherly  women,  unseared  consciences, 
what  right  has  this  man  to  give  away  this  child  ? 
Whose  child  is  it  ?  His  own.  Held  by  no  other 


48  WOOL-GATHERING. 

title  than  that  which  makes  his  horse  or  house 
his?  Will  God  receive  from  him  a  quitclaim 
deed  as  valid  evidence  of  transfer  ?  When  God 
asks  him  at  his  judgment-day,  "  Where  is  the 
child  I  gave  into  thy  hands  ? "  will  it  be 
enough  to  answer,  "  I  gave  it  away  to  my  wife's 
cousin"?  Can  a  man  wash  his  hands  of  his 
child's  blood  so  easily  ? 

I  know  what  they  would  say :  "  Why,  the  child 
will  be  a  great  deal  better  off  than  if  he  had  kept 
it  himself."  So  the  child  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  off  in  heaven  than  on  earth,  but  that 
would  not  justify  him  in  drowning  it.  He  has 
just  as  good  a  right  to  give  it  to  the  angels  as 
he  has  to  give  it  to  men  and  women.  The 
child  is  his,  and  is  "  not  transferable."  He  ought 
to  retain  his  power  over  it,  and  his  love  and  care 
for  it.  That  its  mother  is  dead  is  the  worst  pos 
sible  reason  why  it  should  lose  its  father  too. 
When  a  man  is  deprived  of  his  right  arm,  does 
he  cut  off  his  left  ?  When  the  mother  dies, 
the  father's  duty  is,  as  far  as  possible,  to  be  both 
father  and  mother  to  the  children.  If  he  fails 
then,  he  fails  honorably,  but  he  need  not  fail. 
Men  have  tried  it  and  have  succeeded.  To 


WOOL-GATHERING.  49 

fail  without  trying  is  shameful.  A  man  can 
no  more  rightfully  give  away  his  child  than  he 
can  give  away  his  own  soul.  Recklessly  we  as 
sume  and  recklessly  relinquish  the  most  solemn 
trusts,  but  God  maketh  inquisition.  Poverty  or 
disease  may  force  the  child  from  its  father's  arms, 
but  this  young  man  bore  no  marks  of  either.  Ho 
was  well-dressed  and  well-looking,  and,  as  far  as 
appearances  go,  perfectly  able  to  take  care  of 
all  four  of  his  children  if  he  had  been  willing  to 

O 

devote  himself  to  them.  Good  people,  you  have 
so  much  pity  for  the  young  man !  I  have  very 
little.  I  am  a  hard-hearted,  evil-minded  traveller, 
and  it  looks  to  me  full  as  likely  as  anything  else 
that  he  is  merely  clearing  the  decks  for  another 
engagement ! 

I  think  my  old  friends  have  reached  the  same 
conclusion,  though  probably  by  a  different  route  ; 
for  when  my  ears  are  open  again,  the  man  is 
telling  an  up-country  story  to  his  sympathizing 
fellow-travellers.  "  There 's  a  man  up  in  our 
town  been  courtin'  a  woman  some  time.  She  's 
a  school-teacher  and  smart.  She  was  a  widow 
and  had  two  children.  He's  got  two  children, 
too.  Boys.  One  on  'em  drives  an  omnibus, 
3  D 


50  WOOL-GATHERING., 

t'  other  sells  papers  and  sich.  Well,  they  take 
care  o'  themselves.  When  the  thing  had  been 
goin'  on  perhaps  a  year,  an'  he  thought  he  'd 
got  her  pretty  well  hitched  on,  he  kind  o' 
talked  round  about  the  children,  —  asked  her  if 
she  could  n't  put  'em  out  somewher.  Well,  the 
amount  of  it  was  he  wanted  her,  but  he  did  n't 
want  the  children.  Well,  I  tell  ye,  she  rared 
right  up,  and  told  him  he  might  go  to  the  devil ! 
She  wa'n't  goin'  to  sacrifice  her  children  for  him 
nor  no  other  man  !  Bet  ye,  he  come  to  time 
quick !  " 

A  good  story  if  he  had  only  stopped  there,  but 
he  did  not.  He  rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed, 
and  shuffled  his  feet,  and  then  added  in  an  indif 
ferent  tone,  as  if  it  were  of  no  especial  moment, 
only  a  thing  to  be  expected,  —  "  And  they  're 
married  now  /" 

At  midnight  we  leave  the  land  and  trust  our 
selves  to  the  Great  River.  The  steamer  Damsel 
is  our  doom,  and  a  very  slatternly  and  unman 
nerly  damsel  she  turns  out  to  be.  In  the  first 
place,  the  boat  is  crowded  and  we  can  get  no 
state-rooms,  not,  however,  because  of  the  crowd, 
but  of  our  blind  confidence  in  a  mendacious 


WOOL-GA  TREEING.  51 

officer.  In  the  next  place,  the  fire  in  the  stove 
is  low,  and  the  big,  swaggering  boy  rekindles  it 
with  kerosene.  The  passengers  shivering  around 
the  stove  remonstrate,  (not  I,  —  I  would  rather 
run  the  risk  of  being  blown  up,)  but  he  laughs, 
and  says  it  is  nothing  but  a  little  water,  and  gives 
another  flirt  to  his  can.  Half  a  dozen  times,  at 
least,  the  kerosene  can  is  brought  forward,  and 
the  oil,  not  poured,  but  flung  upon  the  fire.  The 
flames  flare  out  of  the  door  and  leap  half-way 
up  to  the  ceiling.  A  man  appeals  to  one  of  the 
officers,  who  says  there  is  no  danger.  All  the 
talk  about  kerosene  exploding  is  nothing.  It  is 
harmless  as  water.  They  have  always  used  it, 
and  never  had  any  trouble.  In  spite  of  oil  and 
wood,  we  are  wretchedly  uncomfortable.  There 
are  draughts  everywhere,  and  we  take  violent 
colds.  The  way  they  open  state-rooms  on  board 
the  Damsel  is  to  boost  a  boy  to  the  top  of  the 
door,  then  make  him  wriggle  through  the  ven 
tilator,  a  somewhat  prolonged  process,  and  loose 
the  fastenings  from  the  inside.  At  least,  that  is 
the  way  I  saw  it  done,  and  an  edifying  specta 
cle  it  is.  The  table  is  set  with  a  warm,  greasy 
abundance.  There  is  an  indefinable  sham  splen- 


52  WOOL-GATHERING. 

dor  all  around,  half  disgusting  and  wholly  comical. 
The  paint  and  gilding,  the  velvet  and  Brussels, 
the  plate,  and  the  attendants  show  bravely  by 
lamp-light,  but  the  honest  indignant  sun  puts  all 
the  dirty  magnificence  to  shame.  The  crew  are 
negroes,  ragged,  filthy,  roistering,  insubordinate, 
inefficient,  and  profane  to  the  last  degree.  The 
orders  are  noisy,  wordy,  and  undignified,  given 
as  a  rollicking  boy  might  order  his  comrades  over 
whom  he  had  no  command,  rather  than  as  an 
officer  to  his  men.  The  negroes  re-issue  them 
one  to  another  with  comments,  questions,  and 
expletives,  and  obey  them  in  their  own  time 
and  way.  Wrestling,  fighting,  and  swearing  are 
their  business ;  running  the  boat  their  interrup 
tion.  The  luggage  and  freight  are  their  play 
things,  which  they  pull  and  kick  about  with  a 
more  hearty  good-will  than  they  take  to  any 
thing  else.  Five  men  make  the  noise  of  a 

o 

hundred,  and  possibly  do  the  work  of  one. 
Repeatedly  we  get  aground,  and  are  pushed  off 
with  poles.  The  only  wonder  is  that  we  get  on 
at  all  with  such  utter  recklessness  and  misman 
agement.  All  the  while  our  Floating  Palace  is 
unspeakably  dirty,  and  we  assimilate  to  it  more 


WOOL-GATHERING.  53 

and  more.  These  evils  are  entirely  unnecessary, 
or  I  should  not  speak  of  them.  The  incon 
veniences  of  real  frontier  life  may  make  a  part 
of  its  attractiveness ;  but  here  is  no  frontier  life  ; 
here  are  simply  three  days  of  vile  discomfort  that 
might  just  as  well  be  delight,  were  it  not  for 
gross  and  wanton  negligence  or  cupidity,  or  both. 
When  we  came  back  down  the  river  we  came  in 
the  steamer  Chippewa  (I  think  was  the  name), 
run,  I  believe,  in  opposition  to  the  regular  railroad 
line.  It  made  the  distance  in  less  than  half  the 
time.  The  fare  was  three  dollars  less  than  that  of 
the  Damsel.  The  boat  was  clean,  the  crew  so 
quiet  that  there  hardly  seemed  to  be  any  crew, 
and  the  voyage  an  unalloyed  pleasure.  It  was 
simply  that,  in  the  one,  all  things  were  done 
decently  and  in  order;  in  the  other,  all  things 
were  done  indecently  and  in  disorder.  In  the 
one  case  a  little  attention  was  shown  to  the  com 
fort  and  safety  of  the  passengers;  in  the  other, 
both  seemed  to  be  left  quite  out  of  the  account. 
I  suppose  that  the  present  style  of  railway 
management  is  just  as  good  for  the  healthy  devel 
opment  of  a  country  as  any  other,  or  wise  and 
energetic  men  who  desire  the  development  of  a 


54  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

country  would  change  it.  People,  it  is  found, 
will  travel,  whether  they  travel  comfortably  or 
uncomfortably.  If  a  man  desires  to  go  West  to 
make  his  fortune,  he  will  go,  whether  he  is 
treated  with  civility  or  incivility  on  the  road, 
whether  his  carriage  be  warm  or  cold,  and  his 
surroundings  clean  or  unclean.  And  as  it  is, 
perhaps,  cheaper  on  the  whole  for  a  corporation 
to  disregard  these  small  matters  than  it  is  to 
regard  them,  probably  there  is  no  use  in  saying 
anything  about  them.  But  though  in  the  strug 
gle  for  life  one  cannot  stand  upon  trifles,  it  is  very 
certain  that  in  travelling  for  pleasure  one's  opin 
ion  of  a  country  is  largely  influenced  by  just 
these  trifles.  And  very  justly  too,  for  it  is  in 
little  things  that  civilization  shows  itself.  It  is 
the  finger-nails  rather  than  the  fineness  of  the 
broadcloath  by  wrhich  you  judge  the  man.  Bar 
baric  splendor  may  consort  with  barbaric  rude 
ness.  A  journey  from  the  sea-coast  to  the  in 
terior  shows  plainly  enough  whence  come  those 
unpleasant  books  which  British  tourists  have  from 
time  to  time  written  about  America.  To  a  for 
eigner,  the  temptation  to  ridicule  and  vilify  a 
country  which  lays  itself  so  fearfully  open  to 


WOOL-GATHERING.  55 

ridicule   and  vilification   must   be   wellniirh   irre- 

o 

sistible.  He  may  feel  that  it  is  no  more  than 
strict  poetic  justice  for  him  to  take  out  in  fun 
what  has  been  taken  out  of  him  in  fare.  More 
over,  the  disagreeable  traits  are  thrust  directly 
and  continually  upon  his  notice,  are  perpetually 
interfering  with  his  personal  comfort,  while  the 
excellences  are  more  remote  and  abstract,  and 
as  most  travellers  are  superficial  and  selfish,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  we  get  irritable  and  irritating 
books,  and  much  bad  blood.  But  to  a  country 
man  it  is  too  serious  a  matter  to  be  made  a  jest 
of.  It  involves  personal  shame  and  blame.  I 
do  not  know  how  our  own  compares  with  other 
countries ;  we  may  be  on  a  higher  plane  than 
any  in  the  Old  World,  but  for  all  that  our  plane 
is  low.  The  foulness  of  some  —  of  many  —  of 
the  steam-cars  was  such  as  one  shudders  to  re 
member.  Many  of  the  slips  it  was  impossible  to 
enter,  so  filthy  had  the  floor  been  made  by  their 
previous  occupants.  Even  when  you  were  able 
to  secure  a  decent  one,  it  would  often  happen 
that  the  nasty  habits  of  the  men  around  would 
render  your  position  absolutely  sickening.  Kail- 
road  companies  have  instituted  the  smoking-car 


56  WOOL-GATHERING. 

and  the  ladies'  car,  —  very  good  as  far  as  it  goes. 
But  the  ladies'  car  is  not  reserved  for  women. 
Men  are  allowed  to  enter  it  if  they  accompany 
women.  I  suppose  it  was  assumed  that  a  woman 
would  be  the  man's  guaranty  for  good  behavior. 
Pity  it  is  not  so ;  but,  spite  of  wife  or  child,  men 
bring  with  them  their  unclean  lips  and  defile  a 
whole  car,  while  a  man  of  perfect  purity,  if  he 
happen  to  be  alone,  must  be  shut  out  into  what 
horror  of  great  darkness  the  imagination  fails  to 
portray.  If,  instead  of  a  ladies'  car,  we  could 
have  a  clean  car,  the  arrangement  would  be  far 
more  agreeable. 

Nor  should  I  say  that  the  railroads  of  the  West 
are  characterized  by  the  civility  of  their  servants. 
I  should  say  quite  the  contrary,  were  it  not  that 
generalization  on  data  so  imperfect  as  mine  is 
worthless,  even  if  its  statements  happen  to  be 
true.  Moreover,  civility  is  perhaps  not  altogether 
a  matter  of  latitude  and  longitude,  but  of  indi 
viduals  and  even  of  moods  as  well.  Perhaps 
a  Western  man  travelling  in  the  East  might 
make  the  same  remark  concerning  Eastern  rail 
roads  that  I  should  be  inclined  to  make  concern 
ing  his.  The  fault  is  not  so  much  an  aggressive 


WOOL-GATHERING.  57 

incivility  as  a  lack  of  civility,  —  an  indifference  to 
the  common  courtesies  which  distinguish  savage 
from  civilized  life.  No  reasonable  person  would 
demand  so  much  attention  as  some  conductors 
give.  I  remember  one,  on  the  road  between 
Cleveland  and  Toledo,  who  looked  after  his  pas 
sengers  as  if  they  had  been  his  family,  taking  us 
from  a  cold  to  a  warm  car,  seeing  that  wet  shawls 
and  wraps  were  thoroughly  dried,  bringing  in  his 
books  to  study  out  the  most  desirable  routes,  and 
finally  burdening  himself  with  all  the  feminine 
hand-baggage  he  could  carry,  in  aiding  our  pas- 
sacre  from  his  own  to  another  train.  There  was 

e> 

another  conductor  on  the  train  from  Chicago  to 
Indianapolis,  —  a  man  whose  good-nature  was 
something  noteworthy  in  life,  not  to  say  a  steam- 
car.  His  patience  and  benevolence  were  inex 
haustible.  It  was  a  regularly  recurring  pleasure 
to  see  his  beautiful  face  come  shining  through 
the  car.  He  rendered  no  especial,  tangible  ser 
vice,  but  he  was  interested  and  friendly.  When 
he  took  your  tickets  it  was  as  if  he  had  given  you 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  sworn  to  stand 
by  you  through  thick  and  thin.  I  saw  him  after 
wards  when  off  duty.  He  came  into  the  train 


58  WO  OL-GA  THE  RING. 

and  met  his  family,  —  a  pretty,  lively,  loving  little 
woman,  two  little  girls,  and  a  baby,  —  and  he  held 
the  baby  all  the  way,  and  played  with  it,  and 
chatted  with  his  wife,  and  looked  as  happy  as  he 
deserved  to  be,  —  and  she .  looked  as  happy  as 
the  wife  of  such  a  man  should  look.  And  I  sat 
behind  them,  and  thought,  if  I  were  the  Pope, 
I  would  sprinkle  holy  water  over  them,  and  lay 
my  hand  on  their  heads  and  pronounce  a  bene 
diction  ! 

But  such  conductors  are  a  gift  of  the  gods. 
We  may  welcome  them  when  they  come,  but 
not  clamor  for  them  when  they  are  withheld. 
Yet  surely  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  ask  that 
conductors  shall  be  able  and  willing  to  give  in 
formation  as  to  times  and  ways  of  travel  on  their 
own  roads.  There  are  often  points  concerning 
the  arrival  and  departure  of  trains,  which  ma 
terially  affect  a  person's  plans,  and  which  a  con 
ductor  might  settle  in  two  minutes,  —  in  ten 
seconds.  Yet,  not  unfrequently,  questions  are 
so  imperfectly  and  unsatisfactorily  answered,  that 
they  might  as  well  not  be  answered  at  all.  For 
instance,  we  are  discussing  whether  we  shall 
stop  in  Chicago  for  the  night,  or  go  through  to 


WOOL-GA  THERING,  59 

Milwaukee.  We  appeal  to  the  conductor  to  know 
if  we  change  cars  in  Chicago.  "  We  do,"  is 
the  hurried  reply,  with  such  a  noli  me  tangere 
air,  that  no  ordinary  valor  can  brave  another 
question.  After  settling  down  for  a  night's 
ride,  we  learn  by  chance  that  not  only  do  we 
change  cars  at  Chicago,  but  stations  also,  and 
moreover  the  train  arriving  at  ten  in  the  even 
ing  does  not  leave  till  six  in  the  morning ;  so 
that  we  can  get  neither  a  night's  sleep  nor  a 
night's  travel,  and  are  obliged  as  the  next  best 
resort  to  be  set  down  in  Mudhole.  It  never 
was  my  way  to  suffer  in  silence,  and  it  is  a  satis 
faction  to  know  that  one  conductor  has  been  en 
lightened  as  to  his  duty  in  such  cases ;  but  if  one 
tenth  part  of  the  time  which  he  spent  afterwards 
in  explaining  why  he  had  not  answered  the  ques 
tion"  properly  had  been  spent  in  answering  it  at 
the  time  of  it,  there  would  have  been  a  good  deal 
of  trouble  saved  on  both  sides.  As  I  said,  this 
seems  not  to  proceed  from  any  premeditated 
incivility,  but  from  mere  inattention  to  or  un 
consciousness  of  the  proprieties  of  the  situation. 
Doubtless,  a  conductor,  from  New  Year's  to 
Christmas,  is  asked  many  unnecessary  and  silly 


60  WOOL-GATHERING. 

questions.  Doubtless,  also,  many  questions  which 
seem  to  him  unnecessary  and  silly  are  not  so  to 
the  questioner.  But  no  matter  if  they  are.  We 
are  told  hy  high  authority  that  the  fools  are  three 
out  of  four  in  every  person's  acquaintance,  so  that 
a  large  majority  of  the  travelling  public  are  fool 
ish,  and  as  railroads  are  theoretically,  at  least,  for 
the  convenience  of  the  public,  and  not  for  the 
emolument  of  the  stockholders,  provision  should 
be  made  for  any  questions  which  travellers  ask 
in  good  faith,  as  necessary  to  the  successful 
prosecution  of  their  journey.  To  a  person  who 
goes  into  Chicago  every  day,  it  may  be  impossi 
ble  to  conceive  a  fatuity  so  great  as  not  to  know 
that  Chicago  is  a  point  of  departure,  and  not  a 
mere  place  of  transit ;  yet  such  fatuity  does  ex 
ist,  and  should  be  taken  into  account.  This  one 
thing,  it  seems  to  me,  is  rery  apt  to  fall  out  of 
sight  not  in  the  West  alone,  that  railroads  are 
created  for  people,  and  not  people  for  railroads  ; 
and  that  the  officers  of  a  railroad  are  public 
servants  and  not  irresponsible  monarchs. 

In  nearly  all  the  cars  in  which  we  travelled, 
there  was  a  stove  and  a  fire,  indicating  an  original 
benevolent  intention  ;  but  the  fire  was  constantly 


WOOL-GATHERING.  61 

going  out,  —  three  times  for  example  in  one  trip 
from  one  to  twelve  in  the  evening.  The  agree 
able  and  healthful  consequence  was  a  tempera 
ture  ranging  from  the  red-hot  shimmer  of  an 
air-tight  to  the  shivering  zero  of  no  fire  at  all, 
—  a  change  not  beneficial  to  the  strong,  but 
absolutely  dangerous  to  the  weak.  There  are 
usually  arrangements  for  a  degree  of  ventilation, 
but  it  seems  to  be  nobody's  business  to  see  that 
these  arrangements  are  carried  into  effect.  We 
entered  a  car  one  morning  from  the  fresh  stinging 
air.  We  found  a  hot  fire,  a  full  carriage,  every 
ventilator  shut,  and,  of  course,  a  horrible  condi 
tion  of  things  ;  but  nobody  seemed  to  mind  it.  It 
was  suggested  to  the  conductor  that  the  ventila 
tors  might  be  opened,  "Why,  yes,  certainly,  he 
should  think  so,"  and  he  sprang  at  them  briskly 
with  great  good-nature.  But  they  resisted  his 
efforts  with  a  stubbornness  that  indicated  long 
disuse.  He  called  in  the  brakeman ;  one  or  two 
passengers  volunteered  their  services;  and,  arm 
ing  themselves  with  poker,  and  shovel,  and  billets 
of  wood,  they  made  such  a  vigorous  onset  that  the 
ventilators  soon  gave  way,  and  we  had  a  fine  cur 
rent  of  sweet  air  rushing  through  the  car,  and 


62  WOOL-GATHERING. 

driving   out   the   sluggish   death   that   had   been 
slowly  settling  down  upon  us. 

As  we  were  approaching  Chicago,  one  of  those 
omnibus  men  who  go  through  a  train  seeking 
whom  they  may  devour  scattered  some  of  his 
tickets  to  our  party.  When  he  had  gathered 
them  up  again,  he  coolly  remarked  that  he  would 
take  the  other  ticket.  There  was  no  other  ticket 
forthcoming.  He  insisted  that  one  had  been 
retained.  He  was  assured  to  the  contrary,  but 
he  "  believed  what  he  saw  with  his  own  eyes." 
What  he  saw  with  his  own  eyes  was  an  Eastern 
horse-car  ticket,  of  the  same  color  as  his  own,  in 
my  half-open  purse.  Willing  to  satisfy  him,  I 
showed  it  to  him  ;  and  invited  him  to  examine 
the  purse  for  himself.  I  think  he  saw  that  he 
was  wrong,  yet  had  not  the  manliness  to  apolo 
gize,  and  refused  also  to  look  into  the  purse,  but 
muttered  his  belief  again..  Now  I  suppose  one 
might  survive  a  suspicion  of  theft.  Every  man 
has  his  price,  but  no  one  likes  to  be  rated  cheaply. 
Had  it  been  a  ticket  to  a  coach  and  eight  cream- 
colors,  with  footman  and  outriders,  I  might  have 
been  supposed  actuated  by  laudable  ambition, 
though  pushed  somewhat  to  extremes ;  but  to 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  63 

be  thought  capable  of  stealing  a  ride  in  a  cold, 
rickety,  jolting  omnibus,  with  a  snarl  of  straw 
on  the  floor,  was  not  to  be  tolerated.  People 
speak  about  losing  temper,  as  if  all  you  can  do 
with  your  temper  is  to  lose  it.  But  if,  instead 
of  losing  temper  you  use  it,  —  bring  it  up  in  full 
force,  hold  it  well  in  hand,  and  hurl  it  straight 
and  steady  at  your  foe,  it  becomes  a  very  effec 
tive  weapon.  I  know  that  it  made  of  my  ticket- 
man  a  ticket-of-leave  man  in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time.  When  the  conductor  came  in  he 
was  regaled  with  the  narrative.  It  was  the  same 
odd,  droll,  good-natured  little  man  who  led  the 
charge  on  the  ventilators.  He  seemed  to  think 
it  a  wondrous  good  joke,  laughed  an  irresistible, 
deprecating,  hearty  little  smothered  laugh,  and 
hoped  we  did  not  blame  him.  O  no !  but  what 
was  the  man's  name  ?  Well,  he  was  sure  he 
didn't  know.  He  came  on  the  cars.  Be 
lieved  they  called  him-  Bob.  That  was  all  he 
knew  about  him.  It  was  suggested  to  him 
whether  his  train  would  not  make  quite  as  good 
time  without  such  bobs  appended,  —  which  seemed 
to  amuse  him  mightily.  But  if  nameless  and 
irresponsible  Bobs  are  to  be  allowed  to  infest 


64  WOOL-GATHERING. 

trains  and  insult  passengers  at  will,  it  is  a  ques 
tion  whether  we  shall  not  introduce  the  summary 
Southern    style    of  procedure.       A   friend   from 
South    Carolina   had   the  misfortune  to   lose    his 
ticket.      To    our   condolence,  he  replied   quietly 
that  he  should  not  pay  again. 
"  But  what  will  you  do  ?  " 
"  Tell  the  conductor  I  have  lost  it." 
"  And  suppose  he  does  not  believe  you  ?  " 
"  O,  I  shall  knock  him  down." 
Now   we   shall   have    railroads    properly    con 
ducted.      The    safety  and    comfort    of   the    pas 
sengers  will  no  longer  be  left  to  the  character  or 
caprice  of  individuals,  but  the   conduct  of  trains 
will  be  reduced  to  a  system,  of  which  civility  will 
be  a  component  part.      Placidity  of  temper  will 
be  tested  in  competitive  examinations.     Due  no 
tice  will  be  given  before  trains  leave  those  edify 
ing  stations  at  which  they  are  announced  to  stop 
from  five  to  twenty  minutes  "  for  refreshments," 
and  from  which  they  are  accustomed  to  slip  away 
at  their  own  sweet  will,  without  so  much  as  say 
ing,  "  By  your  leave."     Classification  will  be  so 
strictly  enforced,  that  even  the  engine  will  puff 
his  smoke  on  the  inoffensive  side,  and  no  hint 


WOOL-GATHERING.  65 

of  anything  obnoxious  shall  come  betwixt  the 
wind  and  our  nobility.  So  potent  is  the  pen  over 
the  passions  and  the  prejudices  of  corporations ! 
All  this  while  we  are  sailing  —  when  we  are 
not  aground  —  up  through  storm  and  night,  the 
wild  darkness  and  the  gray  morning  twilight. 
We  are  a  rough  set  on  board  this  wretched 
Damsel.  We  have  velvet  chairs,  but  unwashen 
hands.  We  huddle  around  the  stove,  a  dark, 
dingy  cloud.  The  woman  next  me  is  a  study,  — 
short,  sinewy,  brown,  with  full,  protruding  mouth, 
prominent  dark  teeth,  very  conspicuous  when  she 
talks,  and  she  talks  much  and  confidentially  to 
me.  She  wears  a  man's  dark  straw  hat,  with  a 
red  plaid  ribbon  tied  around  it  in  a  home-made 
bow.  She  looks  like  a  man  herself,  and  acts 
not  unlike  a  man,  for  she  has  been  smoking 
her  pipe  vigorously  on  deck.  She  tells  me 
she  is  going  up  into  Minnesota  somewhere,  to 
visit  her  father  and  mother.  He  is  over  ninety 
years  old.  Her  sister  and  daughter  are  also 
married,  and  living  there,  and  want  her  to 
come ;  but  her  man  wants  her  to  go  up  and 
see  how  she  likes  it  before  he  buys.  Her  father 
says  he  misses  her.  He  ain't  no  company  now 

£ 


66  WOOL-GATHERING. 

to  smoke  with,  and  he  misses  Ann.  When  he 
lived  with  her  they  often  used  to  get  up  in  the 
night  and  have  a  smoke,  and  then  go  back  to 
bed  again.  She  has  to  smoke  on  account  of  her 

O 

stomach.  She  talks  about  her  boy,  and  is  afraid 
he  did  n't  get  no  sleep  last  night,  and  will  be 
sick  this  morning.  Her  "  boy "  soon  comes  to 
view,  a  black-bearded  lounging  fellow,  six  feet 
high  at  least,  and  that  little  woman  talks  to  him 
and  of  him  as  if  he  were  only  five  years  old.  She 
is  captain  of  her  ship  beyond  question.  She  pres 
ently  draws  a  small  bottle  from  her  pocket,  takes 
a  draught,  and  then,  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent, 
offers  it  to  me.  She  says  it  is  essence  of  pepper 
mint,  and  she  has  wind  in  her  stomach,  and  if  she 
did  not  drink  it  she  should  faint.  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  faint  if  I  do.  So  I  assure  her  I  am  per 
fectly  well,  and  will  not  draw  upon  her  small 
resources.  She  takes  it  in  good  part,  and  sticks 
to  me  through  the  journey  with  her  pipe,  and 
her  plans,  and  her  pa,  and  her  exposed  teeth. 
Altogether  she  impresses  me  as  a  good-natured 
fiend,  —  a  little  grinning,  social  imp,  —  as  I  tell 
her  in  mental  apostrophes  while  listening  to  her 
confidences.  A  horrible  woman.  A  woman? 
A  beetle.  A  cockroach. 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  67 

There  is  an  unhappy  child  shrieking  around  the 
cabin.  His  straight  yellow  hair  hangs  over  his 
forehead  nearly  to  his  eyes.  He  has  a  cold, 
cross,  red  face,  raw  nose,  and  his  little  bare  legs 
above  his  low  stockings  are  mottled  and  red. 
There  is  a  possible  heaven  in  his  blue  eyes,  but 
he  is  going  away  from  it  every  day  under  the 
guiding  hand  of  his  mother.  I  suppose  the  poor 
child  is  really  wretched  from  cold ;  but  he  has  a 
bad  disposition  besides,  which  manifests  itself  in 
incessant  squalls,  with  or  without  provocation.  I 
see  him  presently  stray  to  the  outside,  and  climb 
up  the  guards  of  the  boat,  and  I  rather  hope  he 
will  tumble  overboard.  Certainly  he  might  go 
farther  and  fare  worse.  There  is  a  young  Middle- 
State  woman,  tall,  and  slender,  and  shrewd,  with 
a  pleasant,  liquid  voice,  an  easy  way  of  meet 
ing  everybody,  and  very  indistinct  notions  of 
geography.  She  makes  acquaintance  right  and 
left  without  leaving  her  arm-chair.  She  supposes 
the  captain  found  travelling  here  very  different 
during  the  war  from  what  it  is  now.  No,  not 
materially,  he  says.  But  he  must  have  had  a 
good  many  shots  from  the  guerillas  !  And  she  is 
not  startled  out  of  her  easy  self-satisfaction  at 


68  WOOL-GATHERING. 

being  told  that  the  guerillas  never  ventured  up 
into  the  wilds  of  Wisconsin.  We  have  a  com 
pany  of  nuns  on  board,  and  they  are  by  far  the 
most  intelligent  and  refined-looking  people  here. 
For  one  thing  they  are  clean,  and  the  eye  dwells 
delighted  and  refreshed  on  their  pure  muslin  and 
black  and  drab.  Moreover  they  are  quiet,  and 
they  are  pretty ;  they  ask  no  questions,  they 
move  about  softly,  their  faces  have  repose.  They 
are  a  little  oasis  in  this  desert.  Sometimes  a 
priest  comes  up,  —  there  are  three  or  four  on 
board,  —  and  they  chat  pleasantly  and  laugh 
heartily.  There  is  a  party  of  German  girls  going 
up  to  St.  Paul,  healthy,  happy,  homely,  and  no 
dirtier  than  the  rest  of  us.  They  soon  get  on 
exceeding  good  terms  with  the  servants,  and  I 
hear  a  couple  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  door 
arranging  a  correspondence.  Flirt  away,  my 
hearties.  Dan  Cupid  is  no  disdainer  of  humble 
folk,  and  disports  himself  as  gayly  among  barn 
yard  fowls  as  among  birds  of  paradise. 

But  the  twilight  seems  to  be  departing.  There 
is  a  glimmer  as  of  sunlight  on  the  ceiling.  We 
quickly  take  the  hint,  wrap  ourselves  warmly,  and 
go  on  deck.  Is  it  magic  ?  Is  it  miracle  ?  The 


WOOL-GA  TREEING.  69 

dirty  Damsel  disappears,  crew  and  cargo.  At 
once  and  forever  we  know  the  Great  River. 
Father  of  Waters,  King  of  Waters,  God's  own 
hand  has  set  the  crown  upon  his  forehead,  and 
he  reigns  by  right  divine.  So  grand,  so  still, 
there  is  no  speech  nor  language.  Through  night 
and  storm  we  have  sailed  into  another  world. 
Here  walk  the  Immortals,  —  nay,  it  is  as  if  God 
himself —  Jehovah  of  old  —  came  down  to  tread 
these  solitudes,  and  the  hush  of  His  awful  pres 
ence  lingers  still. 

God  is  here,  but  it  is  man's  world.  More 
sweet  in  its  beauty,  more  solemn  in  its  sublimity, 
more  exultant  in  its  splendor,  than  imagination 
ever  conceived,  —  for  us  it  is  and  was  created. 
No  puny  meddlers  we  thrid  this  glorious  wil 
derness,  .but  heirs  we  enter  upon  our  estate, 
all  breathless  with  the  first  unfolding  of  its  mag 
nificence.  Up  the  broad,  cold,  steel-blue  river 
we  wind  steadily  to  its  Northern  home.  No 
flutter  of  its  orange  groves,  no  fragrance  of  its 
Southern  roses,  no  echo  of  its  summer  lands,  can 
penetrate  these  distances.  Only  prophecies  of 
the  sturdy  North  are  heje,  —  the  glitter  of  the 
Polar  sea,  the  majesty  of  Arctic  solitudes.  The 


70  WOOL-GATHERING. 

imagination  is  touched.  The  vision  becomes  con 
tinental.  The  eye  looks  out  upon  a  hemisphere. 
Vast  spaces,  lost  ages,  the  unsealed  mysteries  of 
cold  and  darkness  and  eternal  silence  sweep 
around  the  central  thought,  and  people  the  wil 
derness  with  their  solemn  symbolism.  Prettiness 
of  gentle  slope,  wealth  and  splendor  of  hue,  are 
not  wanting,  but  they  shine  with  veiled  light. 
Mountains  come  down  to  meet  the  Great  River. 
The  mists  of  the  night  lift  slowly  away,  and  we 
are  brought  suddenly  into  the  presence-chamber. 
One  by  one  they  stand  out  in  all  their  rugged 
might,  only  softened  here  and  there  by  fleecy 
clouds  still  clinging  to  their  sides,  and  shining 
pink  in  the  ruddy  dawn.  Bold  bluffs  that  have 
come  hundreds  of  miles  from  their  inland  home 
guard  the  river.  They  rise  on  both  sides,  front 
ing  us  bare  and  black,  layer  of  solid  rock  piled 
on  solid  rock,  defiant  fortifications  of  some  giant 
race,  crowned  here  and  there  with  frowning 
tower  ;  here  and  there  overborne  and  overgrown 
with  wild-wood  beauty,  vine  and  moss  and  mani 
fold  leafage,  gorgeous  now  with  the  glory  of  the 
vanishing  summer.  It  is  as  if  the  everlasting 
hills  had  parted  to  give  the  Great  River  entrance 


WOOL-GA  TREEING.  71 

to  the  hidden  places  of  the  world.  And  then 
the  bold  bluffs  break  into  sharp  cones,  lonely 
mountains  rising  head  and  shoulders  above  their 
brethren,  and  keeping  watch  over  the  whole 
country ;  groups  of  mountains  standing  sentinel 
on  the  shores,  almost  leaning  over  the  river, 
and  hushing  us  to  breathless  silence  as  we  sail 
through  their  awful  shadow.  And  then  the  earth 
smiles  again,  the  beetling  cliffs  recede  into  dim 
distances,  and  we  glide  through  a  pleasant  valley. 
Green  levels  stretch  away  to  the  foot  of  the  far 
cliffs,  level  with  the  river's  blue,  and  as  smooth,  — 
sheltered  and  fertile,  and  fit  for  future  homes. 
Nay,  already  the  pioneer  has  found  them,  and 
many  a  hut  and  cottage  and  huddle  of  houses 
show  whence  art  and  science,  and  all  the  ameni 
ties  of  human  life,  shall  one  day  radiate.  And 
even  as  we  greet  them  we  have  left  them,  and 
the  heights  clasp  us  again,  the  hills  overshadow 
us,  the  solitude  closes  around  us.  All  day 
long  we  pass  through  this  enchanted  wilder 
ness.  Frowning  and  smiling,  advancing,  reced 
ing,  hill  whispers  to  hill  its  secret  over  our 
heads ;  now  across  the  valley-lands  between  it 
calls  aloud,  and  now  it  lifts  its  forehead  to  the 


72  WOOL-GA  THER1NG. 

sky,  rapt  in  its  eternal  thought.  And  the  bril 
liance  of  clear  mid-day,  the  golden  haze  of  the 
afternoon,  the  lingering  softness  of  twilight,  and 
the  moon's  unclouded  brightness  woo  out  every 
form  and  shade  of  beauty,  reveal  every  line  of 
grandeur,  deepen  all  the  glooms  and  heighten 
all  the  lustres,  till  the  soul  is  bewildered  and 
wellnigh  overpowered.  Then  welcome,  brooding 
shelter  of  the  night,  kindly  darkness  that  soon 
shall  shape  and  shadow  overflow !  Welcome, 
sweet  familiar  twinkle  of  the  old  stars,  beckon 
ing  us  back  to  the  world  we  knew  before, — 
more  home-like  and  more  near  than  the  home- 
lights  gleaming  on  these  strange  shores ! 


CHAPTER    III. 

Parting  Blessing.  —  On  the  Prairie.  —  Sublimity  of  a  Min 
nesota  Farm — A  Violent  Supposition.  —  The  Bearing  ot 
the  Earth's  Botundity  on  Minnesota  Farmers.  —  Flemish 
Painting  of  our  House.  —  Elegant  Extracts  from  Antique 
Rhymes.  —  Bill  of  Fare.  —  Bill  of  Costs.  —  Self-Help.  — 
Second  Self-Help.  —  Outdoors.  —  Farm  Buildings.  —  Hard 
Work,  and  a  good  Deal  of  it.  —  Mitigating  the  Curse  by 
Machinery.  —  Praiseworthy  attempts  at  Description.  —  Sen 
timent  hovering  over  a  Threshing- Machine.  —  A  Fling  at  the 
"  lower  States  "  in  the  Interest  of  Minnesota.  —  Many  Things. 
—  Computing  the  Gains.  —  Counting  the  Cost. 


^INNESOTA.  We  have  persevered, 
following  the  Great  River  through  all 
its  winding  way.  We  have  hugged 
now  this  shore  and  now  that,  seeking  the  tor 
tuous  channel.  We  have  circled  our  last  island, 
swept  around  our  last  curve,  and  now  the 
prow  points  to  land.  There  are  no  wharves. 
The  bank  glides  gently  down  to  take  us,  the 
Damsel  thrusts  her  uncanny  nose  gently  into  the 
gravel,  and  we  step  ashore.  Good  by,  Damsel. 


74  WOOL-GATHERING. 

May  you  sink  a  thousand  fathoms  deep  or  ever 
I  set  foot  on  your  horrid  deck  again  !  May 
forty  snags  crash  your  timhers  and  drag  you  down 
into  -the  turbid  depths !  May  you  blow  up  with 
kerosene  when  no  passengers  are  on  board !  — 
as  to  officers  and  crew  I  make  no  stipulations. 
May  you  run  aground  and  stick  fast,  and  snap 
every  pole  that  you  try  to  push  off  with !  May 
you  be  overthrown  by  wild  winds  on  the  eastern 
shore  of  Lake  Pepin,  and  never  heard  of  more ! 
May  every  raft  butt  you,  and  every  big  steamer 
run  you  down,  and  every  little  steamer  outstrip 
you !  May  water  drown  you,  and  fire  burn  you, 
and  your  sky  rain  thick  disasters,  till  you  cease 
to  be  a  pestilent  speck  on  the  bosom  of  the  River 
of  Greatness  ! 

River  of  Greatness  !  Country  of  Greatness ! 
The  thirty -one -hundred -mile -stretching  stream 
kindles  the  land  to  emulation,  and  everything  in 
Minnesota  is  on  the  magnificent  scale.  Standing 
at  a  cottage  door  the  country  reaches  away  like 
the  sea.  The  horizon  is  regular  and  far.  Broad 
sweep  of  field  rises  to  meet  broad  sweep  of  sky. 
The  earth  rounds  up  under  the  heavens  palpably, 
and  as  you  drive  across  the  broken  prairies  it  is 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  75 

like  driving  across  a  brown,  billowy  ocean,  rolling 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  seer  A  snarl  of  roads 
intersects  the  prairie,  every  man  making  a  high 
way  whithersoever  he  Avill.  To  the  stranger  eye 
it  is  a  labyrinth  in  which  one  might  be  ensnared 
forever.  But  a  certain  instinct  seems  to  guide 
the  natives,  and  we  constantly  meet  them  driv 
ing  along  as  quietly  as  if  a  stone  wall  on  each 
side,  after  the  New  England  fashion,  kept  them 
where  they  belong.  Yet  it  hardly  seems  pos 
sible  that  they  can  know  where  they  are  going. 
Where  we  are  going  is  to  a  Minnesota  farm,  — 
a  Minnesota  farm,  where  tradition  says  they  look 
askance  at  bread  and  milk,  counting  nothing  less 
than  bread  and  cream  a  dish  to  set  before  the  kino-. 

o 

Now,  Minnesota  farming,  I  have  discovered,  is 
something  altogether  different  from  Massachu 
setts  farming,  —  as  much  as  the  Mississippi  is  a 
different  thing  from  the  Merrimack.  It  is  large, 
it  is  comprehensive,  it  is  —  well,  it  is  rather 
sublime  !  It  hardly  comes  within  the  scope  of 
possibility  that  a  man  who  had  broadened  to  the 
wastes  of  Minnesota  could  ever  come  back  and 
be  content  with  the  little  pocket  farms  of  New 
England.  There  are  also,  I  judge,  more  of 


76  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

what  are  called  "  book-farmers."  They  do  not 
go  on  there  in  the  old  ways  in  which  their 
fathers  trod,  for  the  very  good  reason  that  they 
had  neither  ways  nor  fathers.  They  have  broken 
ground  for  themselves,  and  they  strike  out  inde 
pendently.  They  make  experiments,  for  they 
must  make  them.  Indeed,  their  farming  is  itself 
an  experiment.  Their  broad  lands  necessitate 
broad  vision.  They  farm  with  their  brains  as 
well  as  with  their  hands.  Rather,  they  bring 
their  brains  to  bear  on  their  hands,  and  piece 
them  out  with  iron  and  steel  to  clasp  their 
widening  farms.  If  I  might  appropriate  and 
alter  a  rustic  phrase,  I  should  say  they  substi 
tute  wheel-grease  for  elbow-grease.  Instead  of 
taking  his  hoe  and  going  to  work,  the  Minnesota 
fanner  harnesses  his  horse  and  takes  a  drive ; 
but  his  drive  does  a  great  deal  more  hoeing 
than  the  Massachusetts  man's  hoe. 

Let  us  make  believe  now  that  we  are  so  de 
lighted  with  Minnesota,  that  we  are  going  there 
to  live, — and  to  get  a  living.  We  are  young 
and  strong,  with  muscles  in  our  bodies,  and  skill 
in  our  fingers,  and  brains  in  our  skulls,  —  and, 
let  us  say,  with  money  in  our  pockets.  For 


WOOL-GATHERING.  77 

without  money  of  what  use  is  it  to  go  anywhere  ? 
And  yet  every  one  says,  —  and  it  seems  to  be 
proved  by  observation  and  experience,  —  that  the 
West  is  pre-eminently  the  place  for  poor  men. 
There  is  plenty  of  land  at  government  price, 
which  is  almost  nominal,  and  there  is  also  plenty 
of  time  to  pay  it  in.  Many  who  came  with 
money  are  now  poorer  than  those  who  had 
nothing  when  they  arrived.  We  will  therefore 
give  away  our  money,  that  we  may  have  no 
drawbacks  to  our  prosperity,  and  buy  a  farm. 

Minnesota,  fortunately  for  us,  ist  made  on 
purpose  for  farms.  It  is  cut  up  into  sections, 
each  containing  a  square  mile  ;  only,  as  the  earth 
is  round  and  grows  smaller  of  girth  from  the 
equator  to  the  poles,  and  as  all  measurements 
must  mind  the  meridians  whatever  becomes  of 
farmers,  every  now  and  then  must  be  a  man 
who  loses  a  foot  or  two  from  his  acres ;  but  he 
has  so  much  left  that  he  does  not  mind  it. 
Every  sixteenth  of  these  sections  is  appropriated 
—  God  bless  our  native  land  !  —  to  the  school- 
fund.  By  looking  into  Greenleaf's  Arithmetic 
you  will  find  that  a  square  mile  contains  six 
hundred  and  forty  acres,  —  a  very  pretty  plat 


78  WOOL-GATHERING. 

to  be  master  of.  Let  us  therefore  imagine  our 
selves  masters  of  it.  Many  farmers  in  Minnesota 
devote  themselves  to  the  raising  of  a  single  crop, 
—  principally  wheat.  Others  think  this  not  the 
best  way.  One  crop  will  run  farms  out,  they 
say.  They  believe  all  land  is  improved  by  a 
rotation  of  crops,  and  they  approve  of  raising  a 
little  corn,  a  little  hay,  a  few  hogs,  a  few  sheep, 
a  few  apples.  We  believe  also  in  a  rotation 
of  crops,  especially  sheep.  We  will  select  a 
farm  well  adapted  to  sheep-grazing.  It  has 
fine  low  level  lands,  and  gentle  hills,  and  a 
stream  of  clear,  cold  water  running  through 
it.  On  the  southern  slope  our  house  shall  be 
set  square  to  the  sun.  It  is  for  comfort,  for 
present  use,  not  for  show ;  but  it  is  a  mis 
take  to  suppose  that  one  can  be  comfortable 
without  the  decencies  of  life.  Civilization  is  not 
so  deeply  rooted  in  any  of  us,  that  we  can  afford 
to  dispense  with  outside  helps.  And  because 
we  are  going  out  upon  the  prairies,  we  need  not 
live  in  a  shanty  or  between  bare  walls.  More 
over,  it  is  cheaper  in  the  long  run  to  cultivate 
ourselves  as  well  as  our  farms,  and  not  very 
much  costlier  in  the  short  run.  Besides,  our 


WOOL-GATHERING.  79 

benevolent  predecessor  has  left  us  a  house  ready 
t:  hand.  It  has  four  rooms  on  the  lower  floor, 
a  sitting-room,  perhaps  fourteen  feet  by  fourteen, 
facing  the  south  ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  front 
door  a  bedroom,  behind  these  two  front  rooms, 
another  bedroom,  and  a  kitchen.  Every  room 
has  at  least  two  windows  on  two  sides,  for 
sunshine  is  an  eminent  adornment.  Our  sit 
ting-room  has  light,  cheerful  paper,  hung  by  its 
owners,  and  a  stout,  woollen  carpet  which  their 
own  hands  made  and  nailed  down.  A  few  en 
gravings  give  outlooks  through  the  walls.  A 
bracket  in  the  corner  holds  a  vase,  and  the  vase 
holds  an  abundance  of  wild  flowers  and  grasses. 
There  is  a  writing-desk,  book-shelf,  or  what 
not  by  the  window,  and  you  shall  find  in  a 
Minnesota  book-case  on  the  prairie  such  books 
as  Household  Friends,  Imitation  of  Christ,  Me 
moir  of  Margaret  Fuller,  Somerville's  Physical 
Geography,  Parker's  Philosophy,  Swedenborg's 
Christian  Religion,  Snow-Bound,  Longfellow's 
Poems,  Our  Old  Home,  Christina  Rosetti,  and 
so  on,  —  good  company  on  prairie  or  in  city. 
The  bedrooms  are  large  and  airy.  The  kitchen 
has  a  pump  in  the  sink.  Opening  from  the  sit- 


80  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ting-room,  and  close  to  the  kitchen,  is  a  pantry, 
or  store-room.  It  contains  a  dish  cupboard, 
a  crockery  cupboard,  one  also  for  glass  and 
silver,  a  shelf  for  the  box  of  knives  and  forks, 
shelves  for  all  sorts  of  cooking  utensils,  com 
partments  with  tight  covers  for  rye-meal,  wheat- 
flour,  corn-meal,  Graham  meal,  and  bran,  a 
closet  for  cold  meats,  milk  shelves,  a  shelf  for 
the  water-pail,  one  also  for  dish-washing,  and  a 
hanging  shelf  before  the  window.  So,  dear  Lady 
Una,  you  can  stand  in  this  store-room  and  pre 
pare  your  meats,  bread,  pies,  and  other  edibles 
for  cooking,  without  leaving  your  place.  You 
have  only  to  turn  around  and  you  can  lay  your 
hand  upon  everything  you  want.  Moreover,  as 
your  sitting-room  is  warmed  by  an  air-tight,  with 
an  oven  and  a  teakettle  aperture,  in  the  winter 
you  can  do  nearly  all  your  daily  cooking  here, 
and  live  as  our  homely  dear  old  grandmothers 

used  to  say,  — 

"  As  snug 
As  a  bug 
In  a  rug." 

When  our  dinner  is  cooked  it  is  of  the  nicest. 
Bread  light  and  white,  made  of  flour  ground  from 
wheat,  which  our  own  soil  fattened;  chicken-pie 


WOOL-GATHERING.  81 

made  of  a  prairie  chicken,  that  came  swooping 
down  from  the  sky  into  our  own  yard ;  custards 
milked  from  our  own  cows  and  laid  by  our  own 
hens, — at  one  or  two  removes;  jellies  that  hung 
quivering  on  our  own  wild  plum-trees  ;  —  every 
thing  cooked  delicately.  The  table  is  set  with  fine 
white  linen,  with  napkins  and  silver  forks  and 
spoons,  and  pretty,  plain  ware  ;  really  one  might 
do  worse  than  dine  at  a  prairie  farm-house.  A 
building  like  this,  erected  when  lumber  was  nine 
or  ten  dollars  a  thousand,  say  three  years  ago,  cost 
not  quite  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  But 
then  a  great  deal  of  ingenuity  was  built  into  it. 
For  blinds,  the  owner  obtains  a  model,  and  then 
makes  them  and  paints  them  himself.  He  also 
washes  or  stains  the  outside  of  the  house  to 
some  harmonious  tint.  He  papers  the  rooms. 
He  stains  all  the  interior  wood-work  with  a 
home-made  preparation.  Many  of  the  doors 
and  some  of  the  window-frames  are  the  work 
of  his  own  hands.  He  lays  the  floor,  and  lathes 
the  walls.  He  makes  the  little  porch  over  the 
front  door.  All  the  cunning  workmanship  of 
the  store-room  is  his.  The  dining-table,  and 
the  brackets,  and  scores  of  little  contrivances, 

4*  V 


82  WOOL-GATHERING. 

and  even  elegances,  are  the  product  of  his  mind, 
and  hand,  —  aided  by  another  mind  as  fertile, 
and  other  hands  only  less  strong,  not  less  skil 
ful.  From  these  other  hands  come  the  rustic 
frames  for  the  engravings,  the  warm-looking  cur 
tains,  and  many  a  nameless  but  useful  and 
pretty  device.  From  both  pair  of  hands  come 
the  large  and  comfortable  lounge,  with  its  piled- 
up  cushions  ;  it  is  not  the  work  of  a  day  or  of  a 
week,  but  of  many  winter  evenings  and  many 
rainy  mornings,  —  the  gathered  fragments  of  odd 
hours  ;  and  so  first  and  best  we  have  a  home 
in  the  wilderness,  and  a  home  that  will  be  con 
stantly  growing  more  home-like. 

For  our  door-yard  we  have  thousands  of  acres. 
A  few  trees  are  growing  on  the  sheltered  slope 
in  front,  and  the  sheltered  slope  behind  is  our 
garden.  Here  are  our  tomatoes,  our  sweet-corn, 
our  beans  and  peas,  our  pie-plant,  which  re 
mains  fresh  and  tender  and  fit  for  cooking  all 
summer  long,  our  trellis-work  for  vines,  our 
lilacs,  and  whatever  we  can  coax  to  take  root. 
And  on  fine  summer  days  we  throw  wide  open 
the  front  door  and  the  back  door,  and  the  door 
between  living-room  and  kitchen,  the  three  doors 


WOOL-GATHERING.  83 

being  in  one  line,  and  prairie  and  garden  catch 
pleasant  looks  at  each  other,  and  fling  many  a 
fragrant  whisper  through  the  house.  But  the 
garden  is  an  aftergrowth.  There  are  other  things 
to  be  looked  to.  Especially  is  it  a  first  requisite 
to  get  the  farm  well  fenced  in.  A  barn  does 
not  seem  to  be  so  indispensable  to  a  farm  as 
we  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  it.  Few- 
good  barns  are  to  be  seen,  though  they  are  now 
coming  more  into  use,  as  farmers  have  money 
and  time  to  build  them.  The  stable  must  come 
first.  A  very  rude  and  primitive  one  gives 
shelter  to  the  horses,  who  are  nearly  as  im 
portant  to  the  farm  as  the  farmer  himself. 
Crotched  posts  are  set  in  the  ground,  the  sides 
boarded,  poles  and  rails  laid  acrpss  the  top,  the 
threshing-machine  driven  up  alongside,  and  the 
straw-carrier  heaps  up  the  straw  on  them  to 
form  the  roof.  Sheds  are  made  for  the  sheep 
in  a  similar  manner,  and  are  about  four  feet 
high,  They  open  on  the  south.  On  the  north 
side  stacks  of  straw  and  hay  are  ranged  so 
as  to  shelter  the  yard,  and  they  give  a  very 
cosey  look  to  the  out-door  establishment.  As 
we  have  time,  we  join  house  and  barn  with 


84  WOOL-GATHERING. 

a  shed  for  the  farm-wagons  and  machines,  a 
wood-house,  and  a  carpenter's  shop.  Then  we 
are  well  protected  against  the  north  winds,  and 
well  open  on  the  sunny  southern  side. 

For  our  farming  work:  we  begin  by  break 
ing  ground  in  the  spring,  just  as  the  green  grass 
starts.  The  ploughing  will  be  easier  if  we  first 
burn  off  the  dead  grass.  We  can  begin  by  the 
middle  of  May,  and  keep  at  it  till  the  last  of 
July.  Then  the  field  lies  till  the  next  spring. 
The  native  sod  is  so  tough  that  we  cannot  do 
much  with  it  the  first  year.  The  next  spring 
having  come,  as  soon  as  the  frost  gets  out  enough 
to  let  us  cover  the  grain  well,  we  sow  it.  The 
earlier  the  better.  The  crop  is  surer,  and  the 
grain  of  a  better  quality.  If  frost  comes  after 
wards,  or  even  snow,  there  is  no  harm  done. 
The  hardy  little  kernels  have  the  inside  track, 
and  laugh  at  the  feeble  efforts  of  an  effete  win 
ter.  We  do  not  sow  by  hand,  as  they  do  in 
picture-books,  but  with  a  broadcast  sower.  With 
two  horses  we  go  over  from  ten  to  fifteen  acres 
a  day.  An  ingenious  little  arrangement  tells 
how  much  grain  we  put  into  the  acre,  and  how 
many  acres  we  go  over,  with  as  much  accuracy 


WO  OL-GA  THE  RING.  85 

as  a  time-clock  tells  the  hours  and  minutes.  If 
we  find  we  are  putting  in  too  much  or  too  little, 
we  can  adjust  the  machine  to  a  different  quan 
tity,  as  readily  as  a  clock  is  regulated.  Three 
bushels  of  oats  or  one  bushel  and  a  half  of 
wheat  is  the  ordinary  allowance  to  an  acre. 
The  machine  sows  and  partially  covers  the  grain. 
When  it  is  new  ground,  we  go  over  it  two  or 
three  times  with  a  harrow,  and  then  we  give  it 
in  charge  to  sunshine  and  rain  and  dew  and  air 
till  the  harvest- time. 

We  have  also  what  we  call  sod  corn  and 
sod  potatoes.  We  simply  thrust  an  axe  and  a 
spade  in  between  the  sods,  drop  the  corn,  and 
cover  it  with  the  heel ;  but  it  does  not  yield  the 
best  crop.  For  sod  potatoes  we  plough  one  fur 
row,  and  plant  the  potatoes  in  it  about  eighteen 
inches  apart,  and  close  to  the  land  side,  then 
plough  another  furrow  which  covers  them.  The 
potatoes  come  up  between  the  sods.  Then  we 
plough  three  furrows  and  drop  another  row  of 
potatoes.  In  this  manner  we  get  our  best  crop 
of  potatoes.  They  need  no  hoeing.  The  land 
is  necessarily  free  from  weeds,  for  there  are  no 
seeds  for  the  weeds  to  spring  from.  In  break- 


86  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ing  this  ground,  the  shallower  we  plough  the 
better.  We  want  our  furrow  only  two  and  a 
half  or  three  inches  deep.  In  harvest-time  we 
plough  as  at  planting.  That  turns  the  sod  over 
and  throws  up  the  potatoes.  We  have  three 
or  four  men  or  boys  to  follow  and  gather  the 
potatoes  which  we  have  unearthed.  We  have 
now  not  only  an  excellent  crop  of  potatoes,  but 
we  have  the  land  in  a  better  condition  for  next 
year's  wheat  crop  than  if  we  had  not  planted 
the  potatoes.  Now  then,  my  statistician,  what  is 
the  net  gain  on  our  potatoes  ? 

But  while  we  have  been  talking  about  the 
potatoes,  May  and  June  and  July  have  been 
busy  in  our  fields,  and  the  wheat  has  ripened. 
.  We  know  neither  sickle  nor  cradle  here,  but  we 
bring  up  the  horses  and  the  header.  The  head 
er  aims  straight  at  the  heads  of  the  wheat, 
designing  to  get  only  as  much  straw  as  is  ne 
cessary  in  order  to  secure  all  the  heads.  It 
leaves  the  stubble  from  one  and  a  half  to  two 
feet  high.  A  man  steers  the  machine  with  a 
rudder,  as  you  steer  a  boat.  The  rudder  is  a 
castor  wheel.  The  horses  are  harnessed  in  be 
hind  the  header,  and  move  it  like  a  wheel- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  87 

barrow,  and  cannot  go  wrong.  They  have  sim 
ply  to  go  wherever  the  header  is  steered.  A 
header  has  four  horses  abreast,  two  on  each  side 
of  the  tongue.  It  often  cuts  twenty-two  acres  a 
day,  sometimes  thirty  ;  the  average  is  about  eigh 
teen.  The  slightest  rain  stops  work.  The  ma 
chine  clogs,  and  grain  must  not  be  stacked  while 
damp.  The  header  is  accompanied  by  three 
racks,  and  each  rack  has  two  horses  and  a 
driver.  The  header-rack  is  a  floor  or  platform 
on  wheels,  with  sides  of  canvas,  to  catch  the 
grain  thrown  from  the  header.  We  begin  our 
harvesting  in  July.  We  first  find  the  centre 
of  our  big  lot,  then  steer  our  header  straight  for 
that  centre,  cutting  a  swath  as  we  go  ten  feet 
wide.  Our  rack  is  on  the  left  of  the  header, 
and  when  we  first  enter,  of  course  we  have  to 
trample  the  grain  sadly.  But  why,  O  extrava 
gant  Western  Farmer,  do  you  not  send  a  man 
in  beforehand  to  cut  down  a  swath  with  his  own 
right  arm,  and  so  save  all  the  trampling?  "Oh!" 
says  my  lord,  "  when  we  are  working  with  four 
teen  men  and  ten  horses,  it  won't  do  to  bother 
about  a  handful  of  wheat."  So  they  laugh  to 
scorn  our  contracted  New  England  ideas  of 


88  WOOL-GATHERING. 

economy.  Having  gained  the  centre,  the  head 
er,  and  its  devoted  wife,  the  rack,  go  round  in 
as  small  a  circle  as  possible,  say  two  or  three 
rods  in  circumference,  and  then  begin  to  stack. 
The  grain  when  cut  by  the  header  is  thrown  by 
an  endless  apron,  revolving  like  a  belt,  into  the 
header  rack  on  its  left.  This  apron  is  about 
thirty  feet  long.  It  is  made  of  stout  canvas 
cloth,  with  strips  of  wood  affixed  crosswise  to 
carry  up  the  straw.  The  header  rack  must  keep 
close  up  under  the  spout  of  the  header.  When 
one  rack  is  full,  it  deposits  its  load  in  the  centre 
of  the  field,  while  another  rack  drives  up  imme 
diately  and  takes  its  place  on  the  left  of  the  head 
er.  One  man  stands  on  the  rack  to  load,  jump 
ing  from  rack  to  rack  as  each  fresh  one  comes 
up.  There  is  one  man  to  stack,  and  another  to 
trim  up  the  stacks.  The  stacks  are  made  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  feet  long,  and  nine  or  ten  feet  wide, 
and  symmetrically  curved  and  shaped.  They 
are  generally  arranged  in  groups  of  four,  each 
group  containing  two  or  three  hundred  bushels 
of  wheat.  They  are  often  made  on  a  knoll  or  the 
poorest  part  of  the  field,  and  the  straw  lies  there 
till  it  rots  or  is  burnt,  and  so  enriches  the  soil. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  89 

The  four  stacks  are  so  placed  that  the  threshing- 
machine  can  stand  either  way,  thus,  borrowing  the 
pencil  of  Turner,  |  |  |  |  T  means  the  thresh- 

T 

ing-machine,  and  [  |  |  |  the  little  oblong  fig 
ures,  that  do  not  look  in  the  least  like  wheat- 
stacks,  are  nevertheless  wheat-stacks.  If  the 
wind  changes,  everything  must  be  changed, 
and  to  change  everything  requires  half  an  hour. 
But  these  threshing-machines  are  curiously  inter 
esting.  They  seem  to  have  almost  a  vitality  of 
their  own.  You  are  never  tired  of  watching 
them.  Sometimes  they  are  worked  by  steam, 
sometimes  by  horses.  Steam-power  does  nearly 
twice  as  much  in  a  day  as  the  horse-power,  and 
a  steam-engine  has  to  be  feel  only  when  it  works, 
while  horses  must  eat  whether  they  work  or 
not.  If  you  are  driving  across  country  and 
see  the  smoke-stack  looming  up  in  the  middle 
of  a  big  field,  you  leave  the  road  and  drive 
into  the  field.  There  stands  the  monster  ma 
chine,  destroying  huge  haystacks,  but  giving 
in  return  a  steady  stream  of  fine  clean  wheat, 
and  shuddering  all  the  while  with  the  earnest 
ness  of  his  effort.  Two  half -bushel  measures 
are  arranged  in  a  trough,  placed  under  the 


90  WOOL-GATHERING. 

stream,  and  when  one  is  full  it  can  be  re 
moved  and  the  other  pushed  up  directly,  so  that 
there  is  no  waste.  The  wheat  is  at  once  poured 
into  bags,  and  is  thus  made  ready  for  market 
on  the  spot.  When  one  group  of  stacks  is  dis 
posed  of,  the  engine  is  driven  round  to  another, 
till  he  has  ravaged  the  whole  country,  —  a  most 
friendly  foe.  Almost  any  evening  in  harvest- 
time,  you  can  hear  from  your  window  his  plain 
tive  hum,  and  you  can  very  easily  grow  mel 
ancholy  over  it.  Well  may  the  good-hearted 
monster  be  plaintive,  foreseeing  that  the  sweet 
rich  wheat  he  pours  out  with  such  painstaking, 
is  doomed  to  go  to  the  lower  States,  be  mixed 
in  and  adulterated  with  their  inferior  wheat, 
and  the  product  called  by  the  name  of  Min 
nesota  flour,  because  of  the  superiority  of  Min 
nesota  flour  to  all  other.  At  least  that  is  what 
the  Minnesota  people  say.  The  "  lower  States  " 
men  might  sing  a  different  song,  but  I  know  that 
I  heard  an  uninterested  New  England  farmer, 
and  a  deacon  too,  say,  the  other  day,  that  since 
he  had  two  barrels  of  Hastings  flour,  he  never 
wanted  any  other ! 

When  we  have  threshed  our  wheat  and  burned 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  91 

our  stacks,  we  plough  up  our  ground  for  next 
year's  crop,  and  let  it  stand  till  spring.  The 
land  is  so  rich  that  it  scarcely  needs  manure. 
It  is  put  on  more  to  get  it  out  of  the  way 
than  to  enrich  the  land.  Little  live  stock  has 
hitherto  been  kept,  but  the  farmers  are  begin 
ning  to  increase  it. 

The  wild  hay-crop  is  in  some  parts  of  Min 
nesota  of  the  best  quality.  The  prairie  grass 
looks  coarse  and  rank,  but  is,  I  believe,  uni 
versally  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  of  all  to 
fatten  stock  and  produce  milk.  Hungarian  grass 
is  sowed  a  good  deal,  and  Timothy  is  now  get- 
tins:  to  be  somewhat  common.  With  Hunga- 

o  o 

rian,  the  land  has  to  be  ploughed  and  sown  every 
year.  It  will  mature  in  sixty  days,  and  yields 
two  or  three  tons  to  the  acre.  Tame  grasses 
have  not  generally  been  very  successful. 

Minnesota  is  a  good  State  for  sheep.  It  is 
high  and  dry,  and  the  sheep  are  seldom  troubled 
with  foot-rot,  while  the  cold  weather  gives  good 
fleeces,  as  I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  knowing. 
Flocks  of  five  hundred  sheep  are  not  uncommon. 
Some  farmers  own  a  thousand. 

Now,  suppose  we  reckon  up  our  gains.     An 


92  WOOL-GATHERING. 

acre  of  wheat  yields  on  an  average  about  twenty- 
two  bushels.  The  market  price  for  this  ranges 
from  a  dollar  to  a  dollar  and  eighty  cents  a 
bushel.  With  the  return  of  peace  the  average 
price  has  diminished.  An  acre  of  oats  gives  for 
ty  bushels,  at  forty  cents  a  bushel.  An  acre 
of  corn  gives  —  but  the  Minnesota  farmer  is  a 
little  sensitive  on  the  subject  of  corn.  "  It  is 
not  a  brag  crop,"  he  says,  and  if  a  Western 
man  will  admit  even  so  much  as  that  any  one 
Western  product  is  not  a  proper  subject  of 
"  brag,"  let  us  by  all  means  make  the  most  of  it. 
It  is  quite  common  in  Minnesota  to  leave  the 
corn  in  the  field  till  winter,  and  then  haul  it  in 
on  sleds.  We  do  not  top  the  stalks  as  in  Massa 
chusetts,  but  cut  up  corn  and  all  as  soon  as  it  is 
ripe,  and  leave  it  in  large  shocks,  and  when 
convenient  husk  it  in  the  field.  In  no  way  will 
corn  keep  better  than  in  these  shocks,  when  they 
are  well  put  up.  In  Illinois,  where  they  have 
hundreds  of  acres  of  corn,  farmers  are  husk 
ing  all  winter.  We  feed  corn  to  sheep  without 
being  husked  at  all,  and  we  count  it  the  best 
of  all  feed.  So  do  the  sheep.  They  eagerly 
pick  out  the  ears  of  corn,  and  eat  them  first. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  93 

When  that  is  gone,  they  apply  themselves  to 
the  stalk,  and  make  clean  work  of  it.  There 
is  not  a  shred  of  waste. 

Three  pounds  of  wool  a  head  is  a  low  aver 
age  for  sheep.  The  market  price  may  be  forty- 
five  cents  a  pound. 

Now  for  the  outsets  and  offsets  which  must 
not  be  lost  sight  of.  We  plant  our  corn  ;  and 
just  as  the  blade  begins  to  show  itself  in  rows, 
the  cut-worms  begin  their  harvesting  with  such 
success  that  they  leave  us  scarcely  one  third. 
Some  of  our  neighbors  lose  their  corn  entire 
ly.  Another  neighbor  who  planted  a  week  ear 
lier  than  we  gets  a  good  crop.  So  then  we 
have  lost  our  corn,  but  we  have  learned  a  lesson, 
—  that  early  planting  is  likely  to  insure  a  good 
crop,  because  the  cut-worm  is  an  epicure,  and 
likes  his  corn  tender,  ceasing  to  relish  it  beyond 
a  certain  stage  of  growth.  The  dainty  little 
fellows  dig  down  to  the  kernel  and  take  out  the 
chit.  You  can  see  them  crawling  on  the  ground, 
six  at  work  on  one  kernel.  This  is  a  big  story 
I  know,  but  that  is  why  I  tell  it.  You  do  not 
suppose  I  am  going  half  across  the  continent  for 
the  sake  of  saying  that  several  worms  are  some- 


94  WO  OL-GA  THE  RING. 

times  found  in  one  hill.  Not  at  all !  Six  tug 
ging  at  one  kernel,  or  no  story  ! 

Corn  is  also  destroyed  by  squirrels  or  striped 
gophers.  If  not  closely  watched,  they  some 
times  make  havoc  of  whole  fields,  and  are  a 
worse  pest  than  the  worms,  which  usually  take 
the  corn  at  the  surface  of  the  ground.  They 
have  this  advantage  over  the  worms,  that  they 
are  very  pretty. 

Sometimes  we  have  a  dry  spring,  and  the 
wheat  will  lie  in  the  ground  two  or  three  weeks 
before  sprouting.  Then  the  crop  is  backward 
and  liable  to  various  ills,  and  will  perhaps  yield 
but  six  bushels  to  the  acre,  instead  of  the  aver 
age  yield  of  twenty  bushels.  To  cut  and  stack 
wheat  costs  somewhat  more  than  two  dollars  an 
acre ;  to  thresh  it,  nearly  three  dollars.  The 
threshers  cannot  always  be  had  when  they  are 
wanted.  A  company  of  them,  I  think  it  is 
called  a  gang,  go  about  from  farm  to  farm,  and 
a  combination  of  untoward  and  uncommon  cir 
cumstances,  among  which  I  should  place  first  the 
scarcity  of  labor,  may  cause  that  your  wheat  is 
not  threshed  till  the  price  has  declined  from 
eight  to  twenty-five  cents  on  the  bushel. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  95 

When  our  oats  are  at  their  best,  a  storm  beats 
them  down,  so  that  of  our  expected  forty  bushels 
we  get  barely  twenty-five. 

Then  an  untimely  frost  nips  the  tomatoes  be 
fore  they  are  ripe,  and  cuts  off  the  supply  of 
sweet-corn  prematurely. 

Then  we  hear  that  eggs  are  forty  cents  a  dozen, 
and,  lured  into  dreams  of  wealth,  we  carry  all 
our  eggs  to  market,  sell  them  for  fifteen  cents 
a  dozen,  and  come  home.  Our  hens  get  wind 
of  it,  are  justly  indignant  at  being  turned  into 
merchandise,  and  for  several  weeks  refuse  to 
lay  any  more  eggs. 

Then  the  Indians  threaten  to  scalp  us,  and  we 
unyoke  our  oxen,  unharness  our  horses,  and  run 
for  the  nearest  fort,  —  which  is  inconvenient. 

Then  the  ducks  all  jump  into  the  cistern,  and 
are  drowned. 

Then  we  arrange  to  burn  our  stubble  prepar 
atory  to  ploughing.  The  Irishman  first  ploughs 
six  furrows  around  the  wheat-stacks  to  protect 
them ;  but  the  stubble  is  dry  and  the  wind  is 
high,  and  the  flame  leaps  across  the  too  narrow 
barrier,  and  consumes  the  whole  summer's  crop. 
But  it  is  a  very  pleasant  and  social  sight,  on  a 


9  6  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

warm  night,  to  see  the  horizon  lit  up  in  all  direc 
tions  by  the  fires  of  the  blazing  straw-stacks. 
Wheat  does  not  burn  so  well  as  straw,  and  there 
are  other  reasons  why  the  spectacle  is  a  less 
agreeable  one. 

But  the  worst  thing  about  Minnesota  is,  that  it 
is  fifteen  hundred  miles  from  Boston ! 


CHAPTER    IV. 


Fruit  Crop  of  Minnesota  compared  with  the  Snakes  of  Ireland. 

—  Plumming.  —  Going  to  Mill.  —  Perambulating   Ruins   in 
Minnesota.  —  Advantages  of  Ruins.  —  Moral  and  ^Esthetic. 

—  Vermilion  Falls.  —  County  Fair.  —  Metaphysical  and  Agri 
cultural  Uses  of  a  County  Fair. — Pilgrims'  Progress  to  a 
County  Fair.  —  Norsemen  and  Celts.  —  Leander  on  the  Mis 
sissippi  Bottom-lands.  —  Steamboats  cutting  across  Lots.  — 
Spirited  Pursuit  of  a  County  Fair.  —  Getting  up  Stairs.  — 
The  Pursuit  successful.  —  Exhaustive  Account  of  the  Fair. 

—  Comparison  of  Eastern  and  Western  Cattle-Shows.  —  The 
Mounds  afar.  —  The  River-Ghost.  —  Agassiz  receiving  a  Call. 

—  The    Mounds   at  hand.  —  A   Romance    spoiled.  —  Philo 
sophic  Explanation  of  the  Mounds. 

UT  we  have  been  so  long  hard  at 
work  on  our  farm,  that  we  have 
surely  earned  a  holiday.  We  will 
go  a  plumming,  and  the  fame  of  our  plums 
shall  resound  afar.  It  is  amusing  to  put  Min- 
nesoteans  to  a  cross-examination  on  the  fruit- 
crops.  Apples  ?  O  yes !  Certainly.  There  is 
no  reason  why  she  should  not  have  as  fine  a 
crop  of  apples  as  the  East  or  the  South.  Still, 

5  O 


98  WOOL-GATHERING. 

one  cannot  help  noticing  that,  however  large 
may  be  her  potential  fruit  crop,  the  apples  that 
you  actually  see  come  from  the  lower  States. 
And  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  fruit  of  Min 
nesota  is  at  least  a  little  coy.  It  will  not  un 
sought  be  won. 

This  is  a  general  fact,  but  there  is  one  il 
lustrious  exception,  for  Minnesota  is  prodigal 
of  plums.  Wild  in  the  woods,  like  berries,  the 
great,  beautiful  red  globes  hang  on  the  trees 
in  tempting  abundance,  —  almost  as  luscious  as 
their  cultivated  kin-folk.  Out  we  go  in  the 
pleasant  afternoon  of  the  Indian  summer,  stroll 
ing  through  the  brown,  sunshiny  fields,  crisp 
and  warm  to  the  feet,  —  aromatic  with  the  es 
sence  of  the  thousand  flowers  which  the  sum 
mer  has  distilled ;  wandering  along  the  steep 
banks  of  the  blue  rushing  river,  roaring  over 
his  rocks,  and  whirling  with  many  an  eddy  and 
many  a  soft  ripple  round  his  green  little  islands ; 
winding  in  single  file  along  the  narrow  path 
through  the  copse  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  on 
whose  southern  slope  the  mingled  shade  and 
sunshine  of  oak  groves  flicker  softly  around  a 
pleasant  home.  The  copse  is  aglow  now  with 


WOOL-GATHERING.  99 

splendid  colors,  and  its  burnished  leaves  shine 
ruddy  and  dazzling  in  the  sun.  But  its  saucy 
fingers  play  witch-work  with  straying  garments, 
and  twitch  at  Jamie's  curls  most  teasingly,  as 
his  bright  little  head  goes  bobbing  along  the 
path  before  me,  just  on  a  level  writh  the  shrubs, 
and  the  spring  of  his  swift  feet  is  as  evasive 
and  as  fascinating  as  heat-lightning.  Now  the 
sheltering  woods  enclose  us,  and  we  part  the 
brilliant  boughs  above  our  bending  heads,  and 
now  we  come  to  green  open  spaces,  and  the 
trees  droop  before  us,  heavy  laden  with  their 
pulpy  fruit.  Carelessly  and  quickly  we  strip  it 
from  them  by  handfuls  ;  never  mind  if  a  few 
are  crushed  or  lost,  —  there  are  bushels  more 
than  the  most  provident  house-mother  can  ever 
use,  let  her  fashion  them  never  so  cunningly. 
Plum  preserves,  plum  jellies,  plum  pickles,  plum 
butter,  —  so  the  female  Minnesotean  tricks  out 
her  solitary  drupe  in  "  troublesome,"  but  most 
toothsome  "  disguises."  And  so  the  male  Min 
nesotean  brings  himself  to  believe  and  proclaim 
that  Minnesota  is  a  great  fruit  State  ! 

Or,  if  you  prefer  it,  we  will  take  our  wheat  and 
drive   to  mill.      Bring  up  the  big   farm-wagon, 


100  WOOL-GATHERING. 

with  its  span  of  strong  horses;  for  we  are  in  the 
country  of  magnificent  distances,  and  must  have 
ample  room  and  verge  enough.  Lay  in  the  bags 
transversely,  leaving  space  for  the  seats,  —  though 
it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  meet  men,  and  women 
too,  driving  teams  with  no  other  seats  than  their 
piled -up  bags  of  wheat.  We  ford  the  river, 
creeping  cautiously  down  one  steep  bank,  and 
struggling  up  the  other.  The  water  comes  over 
the  hub  of  the  wheel,  but  the  wagon  is  an  ark 
of  safety,  and  if  Robbie  must  needs  give  his 
tail  a  smart  flourish  just  in  the  deepest  part  of 
the  stream,  and  so  administer  to  the  whole  party 
an  unwelcome  shower-bath,  why,  we  do  not 
mind  it,  but  plod  on,  jolting  and  sidling,  yet 
never  sidling  over,  —  up  hill  and  down,  across 
the  rough  breaking,  across  the  grass-matted  prai 
rie,  twisting  and  turning  through  the  woods, 
along  roads  sometimes  firm  and  smooth,  and 
sometimes  given  to  ruts  and  gullies  ;  and  some-_ 
times  we  crash  through  the  low  brushwood  with 
out  any  road  at  all,  —  sidling  and  uncertain  still, 
but  never  sidling  over,  till  we  come  out  at  last 
upon  a  ruined  city.  Yes,  Minnesota,  young  as 
she  is,  has  already  set  up  her  antiquities.  Of 


WOOL-GATHERING.  101 

insatiate  ambition,  she  is  not  content  to  emulate 
Boston  with  her  Saint  Paul,  but  she  must  have 
her  Nineveh  too,  —  a  city  that  stood  at  the 
parting  of  the  ways,  and  somehow  went  down 
instead  of  up,  till  now  it  is  but  the  forlorn 
simulacrum  of  a  city  that  never  is,  and  never  to 
be  blest.  Yet  it  has  a  charming  site.  I  stand 
at  the  back  door  of  one  of  her  deserted  houses, 
and  far  down  at  my  feet  the  Mississippi  rolls 
brightly  between  its  gayly  bedecked  banks,  and 
the  steamers  steam  slowly  up,  and  the  land 
stretches  back  green  and  level,  high  and  airy 
from  the  river,  and  I  think  no  city  under  the 
sun  could  have  a  more  sightly  home.  Yet  I 
am  glad,  too,  that  the  city  has  dissolved  away. 
Under  the  levelling  influence  of  trade,  I  fear 
the  wild  bright  tangle  of  these  precipitous  shores 
would  have  been  tamed  down  into  prosy  land 
ings,  and  deformed  with  ugly  warehouses,  and 
profaned  with  foul-mouthed  men  swearing  at 
their  patient  horses.  As  it  is,  we  have  this  bril 
liant  repose.  No  rude  humanity  disfigures  the 
grace  of  nature.  Perhaps,  too,  it  is  well  we 
should  sometimes  learn  that  man  proposes,  but 
God  disposes.  Doubtless,  many  castles  in  the 


102  WOOL-GATHERING. 

air  hung  gorgeous  above  this  metropolis  that  was 
te  be,  and  when  it  failed  and  fell,  they  too  crum 
bled  into  dust,  and  great  was  the  fall  thereof.  I 
am  glad  for  no  man's  sorrow,  but  we  need  to 
learn  that  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift, 
nor  the  battle  to  the  strong.  Even  Western  en 
ergy  cannot  do  all  things ;  even  Yankee  enter 
prise  sometimes  fails.  And  so  for  all  hopes  and 
plans  and  efforts  this  city  has  played  a  losing 
game,  and  is  gradually  walking  off  house  by  house 
to  swell  the  ranks  of  a  happier  sister,  who  en 
larges  her  borders  on  the  ruins  of  her  unfortu 
nate  neighbor.  To-day,  as  we  drive  by,  the  big 
hotel  is  rattling  down,  board  and  plank  and  joist 
and  beam,  preparatory  to  migration  and  transmi 
gration.  Grass  is  growing  in  the  broad,  level 
streets,  that  knew  desolation  almost  before  they 
had  learned  population.  But  from  the  cupola 
of  a  barn  that  has  not  yet  set  out  on  its  travels 
we  see  a  broad  and  beautiful  expanse  of  country, 
with  blue  hills  rising  far  off,  like  the  beloved 
hills  of  home,  hopelessly  far  !  Through  the 
clear  air  we  catch  here  our  first  glimpse  of  St. 
Paul,  thirty  miles  away.  It  nestles  among  the 
hills,  a  shimmering  cloud-city,  faint  but  fair,  the 


WOOL-GATHERING.  103 

central   city   of  the   universe   to   our    provincial 
eyes. 

Then  we  drive  again  through  the  oak  open 
ings,  low  woods  all  aflame  with  the  declining 
sun,  and  always  we  seem  to  be  riding  on  high 
table-land,  above  all  the  rest  of  the  country, 
and  often  flat  and  smooth  like  a  floor.  On 
such  a  bit  of  plateau,  we  leave  our  horses 
under  the  trees,  and  pick  our  way  cautiously 
down  the  steep  rocky  bank  of  the  Vermilion 
River.  Stones  and  shrubs  aid  our  tortuous  de 
scent,  and  we  stand  at  length  deep  down  amid 
the  swirl  and  sweep  and  roar  of  falls,  that 
would  make  the  fortune  of  an  Eastern  river. 
The  stream  that  we  forded  just  now,  that  mur 
mured  along  afterwards  by  our  side,  busy,  gentle, 
and  unassuming,  here  puts  on  another  guise, 
and  comes  dashing  over  the  cliffs  with  a  fury 
of  energy.  The  river  is  low,  and  there  are 
numberless  little  terraces,  curves,  and  hollows, 
which  fashion  each  a  little  cascade  of  his  own. 
The  rocky  cliff  juts  out  in  the  centre,  breaking 
the  stream  apart,  and  shaping  itself  into  the 
likeness  of  a  huge  sounding-board ;  and  a  royal 
sounding-board  it  is,  echoing  the  voice  of  many 


104  WOOL-GATHERING. 

waters,  from  the  deafening  roar  of  the  main  over 
flow  to  the  soft  tinkle  of  silver  drops  trickling 
over  the  green  moss  and  the  bare,  brown  cliff, 
or  the  modest  purl  of  a  wavelet  stealing  into 
some  quiet  pool  among  the  rocks.  The  sun 
shines  brightly  among  the  swaying  boughs  far 
overhead,  but  down  among  the  surges  and  foam 
we  stand  in  the  twilight  of  the  shadows.  Little 
sprays  of  verdure,  all  cool  and  dewy  with  the 
constant  moisture,  swing  down  from  the  crevices 
of  the  rocks,  delicate  wild-flowers  nestle  in  shel 
tered  nooks,  and  little  caves  open  black  and  beck 
oning  under  the  overhanging  bank,  but  they  are 
too  small  for  human  feet  to  tempt.  Somewhat 
sobered  by  its  swift  descent,  the  river  rolls  through 
a  deep  gorge,  enamelled  with  trees  and  vines  and 
numberless  nameless  forest  growths,  —  and  never 
heeds  that  its  romantic  beauty  has  been  utilized 
by  human  hands,  —  that,  disdainful  of  its  un 
tamed  grace,  but  deeply  conscious  of  its  motive 
power,  a  huge  flouring-mill  springs  up  plumb 
with  its  sharpest  precipice,  —  eighty-eight  feet 
of  brick  and  stone  and  glass,  —  and  mingles  its 
ceaseless  whirr  with  the  music  of  the  falling 
waters. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  105 

Or  instead  of  wandering  about  aimlessly  among 
the  woods  and  waters,  perhaps  it  would  be  more 
appropriate  to  our  agricultural  pursuits  to  go  to 
the  County  Fair  at  Prescott.  It  will  be  edify 
ing,  doubtless,  to  compare  our  own  farm  products 
with  those  of  our  neighbors.  We  shall  be  glad 
also,  to  see  a  Minnesota  Fair  as  against  the 
background  of  a  Massachusetts  Cattle-show,  and 
I  especially  have  a  great  desire  to  see  a  Min 
nesota  crowd.  I  want  to  see  the  faces  and 
hear  the  voices,  the  ways  and  walks  and  talks 
of  Western  farmers,  male  and  female,  and  see 
whether  there  is  really  engendered  of  latitude 
and  longitude  any  difference  in  the  same  stock. 
Characteristics  come  out  so  strongly  and  broadly 
in  masses;  and  to  see  any  large  numbers  of 
individuals  in  this  sparsely  settled  State,  one 
must  travel  much  and  tarry  long,  —  individuals 
I  mean  who  are  really  individual,  who  have 
the  stamp  and  flavor  of  the  soil,  unmodified  by 
large  association  or  education.  To  be  sure, 
Prescott  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and 
the  other  side  of  the  river  is  Wisconsin ;  but  the 
river-banks  are  friendly,  and  keep  up  a  constant 
kindly  interchange,  and  we  shall  likely  enough 

5* 


106  WOOL-GATHERING. 

find  as  many  of  our  own  as  of  our  neighbor 
State  men  there.  Yes,  by  all  means  let  us  go 
to  the  County  Fair. 

The  same  doughty  farm-wagon  is  our  steam- 
car,  horse-car,  and  family  coach,  and  we  climb 
over  its  familiar,  hospitable  sides  with  ever  fresh 
delight.  It  has  already  come  to  have  a  prairie 
look  to  us.  It  is  airy  and  roomy  and  open  like 
the  prairie,  and  like  it  never  full.  We  drive 
across  country  to  the  river.  Here  and  there  we 
chance  upon  groups  of  Norwegian  and  Irish 
farmers,  coming  in  from  their  wilderness  farms, 
a  week's  journey  perhaps,  to  bring  their  wheat 
to  market.  They  travel  independently,  taking 
with  them  their  cold  meat,  potatoes,  and  bread, 
and  camping  wherever  hunger  or  the  night  over 
takes  them.  With  their  abundant  produce  they 
make  heavy  draughts  on  the  currency.  A 
merry  time  they  seem  to  have  of  it,  —  some 
times  a  little  too  rnerry.  Havirg  exchanged 
their  wheat  for  currency,  they  occasionally  ex 
change  their  currency  for  something  even  more 
worthless  ;  and,  with  fire  in  the  blood  and  fight 
in  the  fists,  merriment  is  apt  to  become  boister 
ous,  not  to  say  belligerent. 


WOOL-GA  THERINQ.  107 

Reaching  the  river,  we  descend  to  the  flat- 
bottomed  ferry-boat,  and  are  somehow  pulled  to 
the  other  side ;  and  then  we  drive  along  the 
pleasant  bottom-lands,  low  and  level,  and  heavily 
timbered,  smooth  almost  as  a  floor,  and  inter 
sected  by  good  hard  roads,  winding  in  and  out 
among  the  trees,  and  seeming  stable  as  the  solid 
earth.  Yet,  in  spring,  when  the  river  is  high, 
this  very  land  over  which  we  now  pass  so  secure 
ly  is  six  feet  under  water.  The  tide  mark  is 
plainly  to  be  seen  upon  the  trees,  and  large  logs 
and  prostrate  tree-trunks  lie  still  scattered  and 
tilted  in  rough  heaps  by  the  action  of  the  late- 
retreating  water.  But  the  water  gives  abundant 
fatness  to  the  soil,  and  rich  grasses  spring  here 
far  into  the  autumn,  as  the  sharp-nosed  cows 
divine.  They  are  not  usually  considered  a  preda 
tory,  or  even  an  enterprising  race,  but  they  will 
swim  across  the  river,  Leander-like,  for  love  of 
these  juicy  feeding-grounds.  Here  too,  at  high 
tide,  the  Mississippi  straightens  out  his  crooked 
sides,  and  we  have  the  somewhat  curious  fact  of 
steamers  taking  short  cuts  through  the  woods. 
I  wonder  what  the  Naiads  and  Dryads  think  the 
creature  is,  with  its  puffs  and  snorts  and  un- 


108  WOOL-GA  TREEING. 

earthly  shrieks,  its  decks  and  windows  and  pilot 
house,  as  it  comes  picking  its  way  among  the 
trees.  On  blithely  through  the  pleasant  grove, 
till  we  approach  the  St.  Croix  River.  Here  we 
find  horses  feeding  and  wagons  resting  in  the 
shade,  —  prudently  left  this  side  the  river  to  save 
ferriage.  It  is  the  outskirts  of  the  Fair  Grounds. 
We  are  safely  conveyed  across  the  second  river, 
sidle  up  the  steep,  rocky  bank,  and  are  in  Pres- 
cott.  We  counted  on  finding  the  Fair  by  fol 
lowing  the  crowd;  but  we  see  no  crowd,  and, 
after  exploring  the  street  on  our  own  account  for 
a  while,  we  are  at  length  reduced  to  the  humili 
ation  of  inquiring  the  way.  The  street  we  are 
in  runs  parallel  with  the  river,  and  travelling 
is  very  toilsome.  Perhaps  the  roads  have  just 
been  mended,  for  they  are  deep  with  gravel  and 
coarse  dust,  through  which  we  slowly  plod  back 
again  to  find  the  hill  which  we  are  directed  to 
ascend.  The  town,  it  seems,  is  built  on  another 
terrace,  as  high  and  steep  as  the  one  we  have 
already  mounted  from  the  river.  Ascending,  we 
find  ourselves  on  another  of  those  strange  smooth, 
vast  plateaus,  which  seem  as  if  they  were  lev 
elled  by  art,  — and  so  they  were,  by  Divine,  not 


WOOL-GATHERING.  109 

human  art.  It  must  be  pleasant  living  on  these 
table-lands.  It  seems  like  a  great  pleasure-ground, 
as  if  you  were  all  by  yourself  "up  stairs,"  a 
sort  of  family  circle  secluded  from  the  outside 
world.  Still,  our  guiding  crowd  does  not  appear. 
Have  we  taken  the  wrong  road  ?  It  is  a  pleas 
ant  one  at  any  rate ;  let  us  try  it  a  little  farther. 
Yes,  we  are  right,  for  here  is  the  race-course, 
detected  only  by  initiated  eyes,  though  indeed 
the  whole  plain  is  eminently  fitted  for  a  race 
course.  But  where  is  the  crowd?  We  must 
have  mistaken  the  day.  Here  is  the  high  en 
closure,  here  the  main  entrance ;  but  there  is 
not  a  man  to  be  seen.  We  send  out  to  recon 
noitre.  A  man  is  at  length  discovered.  He  is 
a  door-keeper,  or  book-keeper,  or  some  sort  of 
official,  and  therefore  trustworthy  person.  This 
is  the  day  for  the  Fair,  but  they  never  expect 
to  do  much  the  first  day.  Evidently  they  will 
not  be  disappointed  to-day.  There  is  one  ad 
vantage,  however,  for  we  are  permitted  to  enter 
without  fee.  It  is  a  highly  respectable  enclosure, 
with  stalls  and  booths,  and  everything  arranged 
in  the  regular  manner.  Everything  in  this  in 
stance  means  eight  sheep,  one  colt,  —  a  tame  and 


110  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

beautiful  creature,  who  rests  his  head  against 
you  like  a  little  child,  and  whom  we  are  loath 
to  leave  in  his  loneliness,  —  one  heifer,  one  pump 
kin,  four  squashes,  and  six  cabbages.  I  took  the 
inventory  myself.  The  crowd  consisted  of  our 
selves  and  a  bevy  of  boys,  perhaps  four,  count 
ing  in  the  stragglers.  There  was  also  a  fruit  and 
candy  stand,  where,  after  mature  deliberation  and 
discussion,  we  bought  ten  cents'  worth  of  candy. 
For  orderliness,  I  think  a  Western  Fair  compares 
favorably  with  an  Eastern ;  but  for  quantity  and 
variety  of  natural  products  on  exhibition,  per 
haps  the  East  may  be  considered  as  rather  bear 
ing  away  the  palm. 

We  mark  well  the  bulwarks  of  Prescott,  the 
clean,  sunny,  open  village  that  keeps  house  on  the 
third  floor,  and  then  we  go  down  the  first  flight 
of  stairs  to  the  road,  and  then  the  second  flight, 
and  are  on  the  river,  ferrying  back  again  through 
the  still  noon,  to  piece  out  our  day  by  a  visit  to 
the  Mounds. 

We  can  see  them  any  time,  purple  in  the 
hazy  air.  They  are  singular  isolated  hills,  rising 
abruptly  from  the  prairie.  One  is  of  a  some 
what  irregular  oblong  shape,  the  other  as  round 


WOOL-GA  THER.  NG.  Ill 

apparently  as  if  it  had  been  fashioned  with  chalk 
and  line.  So  they  look  twelve  miles  off,  and 
we  have  a  mind  to  examine  their  pretensions 
near  at  hand.  The  road  to  the  Mounds  leads 
through  a  valley  as  curious  as  they.  Certainly, 
it  must  at  some  time  have  been  a  river-bed.  It 
is  now,  lacking  only  the  water.  It  is  a  flat  val 
ley  or  ravine,  with  banks  on  each  side,  rising 
exactly  like  the  present  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 
as  high  and  steep.  From  the  top  of  these  banks 
the  land  stretches  back  level,  as  from  the  Mis 
sissippi  banks.  The  plain  is  now  filled  with  oak- 
trees,  and  our  road  lies  diagonally  across  it.  As 
you  stand  on  the  floor  of  that  valley,  and  look 
up  and  down  along  its  winding  length,  and  up 
to  the  heights  on  each  side,  you  have  no  feel 
ing  of  being  in  a  new  State.  The  grain  and 
growth  and  energy  of  the  West  all  fade  away 
from  your  mind,  and  you  are  back  again  among 
the  unknown  geologic  ages.  O,  we  know  so  lit 
tle  of  anything  !  There  must  have  been  a  river 
here.  Where  was  it  ?  Whence  did  it  come  ? 
Whither  did  it  go  ?  What  dried  it  up  ?  What 
security  have  we  that  the  Mississippi  will  not  dis 
appear  in  the  same  way,  and  the  Missouri,  — 


112  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

which  they  say  is  the  true  Mississippi,  —  and  the 
Ohio,  and  the  Hudson,  and  you,  little  Merri- 
mack,  laurel-crowned  among  rivers  for  the  songs 
you  sing?  And  what  world  was  it  when  this 
Vanished  river  was  young  ?  What  people  builded 
on  its  banks  and  floated  on  its  waters  ?  O  tan 
talizing  footprints  of  antiquity,  Vestiges  of  Crea 
tion  !  we  track  you  a  little  way,  just  a  rod  or 
two  out  among  our  common  roads,  and  then  you 
fade  again  into  obscurity,  and  wild,  fascinating 
conjecture.  Great  Agassiz,  mighty  Fisherman, 
Prince  of  the  Powers  of  the  Deep,  Kingfisher 
among  men !  leave  your  cold-blooded  pets,  and 
tell  me  the  story  of  this  ghostly  river.  Create 
again  the  world  through  which  its  bright  waters 
flowed.  People  again  its  shores  with  life,  if  any 
life  was  here.  Give  outline  and  color  to  the  pale 
shades  that  haunt  this  voiceless  valley,  and  let 
us  give  up  our  prating  of  old  times  and  young 
States,  in  the  presence  of  this  relic  of  a  time 
that  was  old  or  ever  a  State  was  born. 

Up  again  the  horses  climb  fiercely  almost,  out 
of  the  silent  valley,  that  just  wanders  on  its 
way  and  gives  no  answer  for  all  our  questioning, 
and  we  draw  near  the  Mounds.  A  few  white 


WOOL-GATHERING.  113 

stones  on  the  side  of  one  of  them  show  where 
our  Irish  brethren  have  chosen  a  burial-place  for 
their  dead.  One  or  two  homely  cottages  stand 
among  the  Mounds,  and  only  increase  the  lone 
liness  of  these  waste  places.  The  Mounds  are 
an  example  of  the  bad  effect  produced  by  over 
doing.  One  mound  would  be  a  mystery.  It  is 
as  round  near  as  far,  and  very  steep.  The  top 
is  almost  a  point.  It  is  like  a  knob  set  up  on 
the  prairie.  At  top  or  bottom  there  seems  to  be 
no  irregularity,  and  by  the  different  color  of  the 
grass  you  tell  exactly  where  the  Mound  proper 
begins.  If  this  were  the  only  one,  what  a  ro 
mance  of  past  ages  could  we  readily  conjure  up. 
Depository  of  a  dead  civilization,  fortress,  beacon- 
hill,  tomb,  round  tower,  —  what  might  not  this 
Mound  have  been  to  the  wonderful  pre-Aztec, 
pre-historic,  pre-every-thing-that-we  know-about- 
ic  race  which  built  it?  As  it  is,  there  are  two 
or  three  other  mounds  so  palpably  Nature's  own 
honest  hills,  that  we  must  relinquish  any  human 
origin  to  this.  Nature  twirled  it  out  of  her 
thumb  and  finger  like  a  top,  and  it  stuck  where 
it  fell.  The  others  just  dropped  flat  from  her 
hand,  and  came  down  rather  sprawling.  That 


114 


WOOL-GATHERING. 


is  my  explanation  of  the  phenomena,  and  there 
are  the  Mounds  to  confirm  it.  If  you  do  not 
choose  to  accept  it,  go  and  look  at  them,  and 
invent  a  theory  for  yourself. 


CHAPTER    V. 


The  Result  of  Feeding,  upon  Ambition.  —  Holding  our  own 
against  the  Pretensions  of  Nature. — A  Rhapsody  over  a 
Covered  Wagon.  —  Expanding  to  the  Occasion.  —  The  Mis 
sissippi  in  a  Decline.  —  Causes  Agricultural  and  Sentimental. 

—  The  Roadside.  —  Sea-Kings  in  Minnesota.  —  A  Lakeside 
Dinner.  —  Travelling  in  Beulah.  —  Grass-growing  explained 
on  the  true  Principles  of  Poesy.  —  Doubtful  Roads.  —  Escort 
in  the  Air.  —  Distance  lending  Enchantment.  —  Speculation. 

—  Solid  Ground.  —  Uncertain  Foundations.  —  Busy  Bees.  — 
The  Bridge  that  carries  us  safe  over.  —  Hotel  in  the  Transi 
tion  Era.  —  Pathetic  Discourse  to  Landlords.  —  A  Surplus  of 
Boys.  —  Saint  Anthony. — Periphrasis  of  a  Water-Cure  Es 
tablishment.  —  Saint  Anthony's  Claims  to  respect  statistically 
considered.  —  Brawl  between  the  Mississippi  and  Mankind.  — 
An    Act  to   amend  the  Act  of  Creation.  —  A    Bewildered 
Saint.  —  An  Appeal  to  a  Saint's  Good  Sense.  —  Fulfilment 
of   Prophecy.  —  Suspension    Bridge.  —  Father    Hennepin's 
Temptation.  —  Minneapolis.  —  A  Memory. 

'UR  ambition  growing  by  what  it  feeds 
on  will  be  satisfied  with  no  home 
sights  and  sounds,  however  fine.  St. 
Paul  shining  in  the  blue  distance,  the  foam  of 
the  laughing  water  breaking  in  mist  beyond,  and 
all  the  new  country  lying  around  this  inland  city, 


116  WOOL-GA  THE  RING. 

—  we  must  see  it  all.  All !  a  life-time  would 
fail  us  before  we  could  see  all  the  wonders  of 
this  great  country  of  ours.  The  farther  wre  go, 
the  more  wondrous  it  seems.  This  Mississippi 
River  of  itself  is  a  revelation.  Its  glory  might 
celebrate  a  continent.  Still,  Nature  shall  not 
cow  us  with  her  marvels.  She  is  mighty  here. 
She  pours  out  her  rivers,  and  piles  up  her 
mountains,  and  deftly  fashions  her  gentle  plains ; 
but  she  knows  that  man  is  her  king,  and  can 
not  be  ousted  from  his  possessions.  So  we  will 
look  and  linger,  and  enjoy  all  we  can,  —  never 
thinking  of  the  years  that  have  gone  into  all  this 
"  mighty  maze,"  —  knowing  that  one  conscious 
year  of  intelligent  enjoyment  is  more  than  a  thou 
sand  years  of  unintelligent  process.  Having  thus 
made  all  square  with  our  self-respect,  we  start 
betimes  on  a  fresh  campaign  in  a  travelling  tent. 
This  is  the  zenith  of  cosey  content.  This  com 
bines  the  comforts  of  home  and  the  charms  of 
motion.  Hampers,  'portmanteaus,  shawls  for  cold, 
parasols  for  heat,  —  it  is  housekeeping  on  wheels. 
No  slavish  subserviency  to  clocks  and  watches, 
but  rise,  dine,  sup,  sleep,  travel  and  tarry,  hasten 
and  loiter,  as  you  like.  Is  the  Indian  summer 


WOOL-GATHERING.  117 

delicious,  the  scenery  charming  ?  Throw  wide 
open  the  curtains  of  your  travelling  tent,  lean 
back  in  your  luxurious  divan,  and  take  it  all  in. 
Is  the  prairie  a  little  tiresome  ?  You  have  but 
to  dispose  yourself  for  a  nap.  Is  the  air  sting 
ing  ?  There  are  plenty  of  defences  against  it, 
and  the  horses'  hoofs  will  ring  all  the  more  mer 
rily  upon  the  hard-trodden  roads.  O,  this  is  free 
dom  and  independence!  It  is  a  return  to  first 
principles.  It  is  health  and  happiness.  Evil  to 
him  who  first  thought  out  the  steam-car,  shriek 
ing,  snorting,  red-hot,  dragging  you,  will  you 
nill  you,  through  the  land  of  Beulah,  and  over 
the  Delectable  Mountains,  with  as  fierce  a  haste 
as  through  Vanity  Fair  and  the  Wilderness. 

Now,  as  we  trot  cheerily  along,  we  have  leisure 
to  take  broad  surveys.  We  breathe  this  heavenly 
air,  we  luxuriate  in  these  fields  stretching  out  to 
meet  the  far  horizon,  and  our  narrow  Eastern 
minds  and  eyes  are  rapidly  expanding  to  take 
them  in,  —  yes,  and  overleaping  them,  clamor 
ous  for  more.  Already,  I  never  look  south 
but  I  see  the  Gulf  waves  washing  the  Louisiana 
shores.  Northward,  the  deep  blue  of  the  Polar 
sea  lies  dark  behind  its  glittering  icy  wastes. 


118  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

From  the  east  comes  the  ceaseless  whirr  of 
Lowell  spindles,  and  westward  rolls  the  Oregon, 
and  hears  many  other  sounds  than  his  own 
dashings.  Well  may  we  carry  ourselves  loftily, 
for  our  high  position  is  no  seeming.  We  are 
riding  in  sight  of  the  whole  country ;  Min 
nesota  is  the  highest  table-land  of  the  continent, 
they  say,  and  I  believe  them,  for  I  have  been 
there !  California,  Massachusetts,  South  Caro 
lina,  do  you  see  us  ?  Elevate  your  glasses  a 
little,  for  we  are  hundreds  of  feet  above  you. 

All  rivers  run  down  from  Minnesota,  as  needs 
they  must  if  they  run  at  all.  In  fact,  the  stanch 
Mississippi  seems  to  be  running  away,  if  reports 
be  true.  The  oldest  inhabitants  assert  that  it 
is  losing  ground,  and  we  shall  perhaps  one  day, 
a  few  billion  years  hence,  have  the  spectacle  of 
a  spectral,  silent  river  such  as  we  crossed  the 
other  day.  Well,  I  am  glad  I  am  alive  now, 
and  have  seen  it  in  its  prime ;  and  you,  respect 
ed  posterity,  will  stand  puzzling  your  brains  in 
turn  on  its  gaunt,  unwashed  banks,  —  and  see 
how  you  like  it !  Meanwhile,  we  will  comfort 
ourselves  with  reflecting  that  the  ground  which 
Mississippi  loses  Minnesota  gains.  The  explana- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  119 

tion  of  its  subsidence  is,  that  cultivation  softens 
the  soil.  The  ploughshare  tears  up  the  hard, 
matted  roots  that  have  grown  and  strengthened 
themselves  here  time  out  of  mind,  and  the  rain 
that  falls  no  longer  runs  off  the  surface  into  the 
streams,  but  sinks  into  the  mellowed  earth.  I 
assent  to  this  plausible  theory  with  my  lips,  but 
in  my  heart  I  know  a  reason  worth  twenty  of 
it.  The  lordly  old  river  fails  because  he  is  faint 
hearted.  Never,  never  again  shall  he  go  "  un- 
vexed  to  the  sea."  Late  monarch  of  all  this 
land  of  lake  and  mountain  and  wilderness,  he 
is  now  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a  broad- 
shouldered  porter,  trudging  along  always  with  a 
pack  on  his  back.  Pert  little  villages  have  stuck 
themselves  down  under  the  shadow  of  his  might 
iest  mountains,  and  not  one  so  insignificant  but 
it  will  fling  its  sack  of  wheat  or  its  bundle  of 
boards  into  the  common  burden.  No  wonder 
the  old  River-God  shrinks  from  the  change.  Did 
the  captive  kings  —  "  pampered  jades  of  Asia  " 
—  wear  their  most  august  mien  when  they  drew 
the  chariot  of  great  Tamburlaine  ?  and  shall 
the  ancient  Mississippi  bear  himself  royally  in 
the  service  of  a  thousand  petty  sovereigns,  in 


120  WOOL-GATHERING. 

slouched  hat  and  dusty  coat,  not  to  say  shirt 
sleeves,  —  let  alone  those  dishonest  Satraps,  who 
put  poor  wheat  into  the  middle  of  the  bags, 
and  good  wheat  at  the  top,  and  so  make  the 
honorable  river  an  accomplice  in  their  petty 
trickery?  O,  if  the  angry  water  could  only 
suck  into  his  deepest  vortex  every  such  sample 
of  man's  cupidity,  and  administer  to  the  guilty 
one  himself  a  smart  sousing  every  time  he  tempts 
him  with  his  knaveries,  what  an  unpopular  river 
the  Mississippi  would  be  ! 

Miles  upon  miles  we  travel  without  coming 
upon  any  village,  scarcely  upon  any  settlement. 
There  are  plenty  of  lager-beer  saloons,  —  rough 
structures  enough,  and  not  over  inviting,  but 
unmistakable  on  the  point  of  lager-beer,  —  and 
we  infer,  either  that  there  are  more  people  here 
abouts  than  are  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy,  or 
that  the  land  supports  a  very  thirsty  population. 
Occasionally  we  pass  a  substantial  but  rude  log- 
house  ;  sometimes  a  stone  cottage,  perhaps  with 
no  visible  windows,  - — blank  to  the  road,  blank 
east  and  west,  and  with  a  certain  squat,  un 
comely  tidiness  that  indicates  Dutch  origin. 
Here  is  a  toy  that  goes  back  beyond  Holland, 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  121 

a  Scandinavian  swing,  the  swing  supported  in 
and  by  a  wooden  frame,  and  instead  of  a  rope 
two  long  wooden  poles,  connecting  the  seat  with 
the  pole  at  the  top.  "  These  wooden  swings  are 
plenty  enough  all  round,"  says  my  friend.  "  How 
do  you  know  they  are  of  Scandinavian  origin  ?  " 
Because  I  saw  them  in  Scandinavia !  The  Scan 
dinavian  is  no  inconsiderable  element  in  the 
population  of  this  vicinity,  and  a  valuable  and 
promising  element  it  is.  Here  again,  strangely 
enough,  when  we  look  only  for  the  new,  we  come 
suddenly,  and,  if  it  did  not  seem  to  savor  of  the 
sensational,  I  should  say  thrillingly,  upon  the  old. 
Eight  hundred  years  vanish  with  a  word,  and  we 
stand  face  to  face  with  the  Vikings.  Out  of  the 
pioneer's  cabin  into  the  pirate's  cave.  It  is  the 
self-same  race  that  swooped  down  upon  England 
with  the  raven  on  their  banner  and  the  dragon 
at  their  prow.  It  is  the  last  spent  spray  of  the 
flood  that  overwhelmed  her.  The  fierce  old  Sea- 
King  whom  every  school-boy  knows,  —  "  Thus 
far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther,  and  here  shall 
thy  proud  waves  be  stayed.  A  king  is  but  a 
man,  and  a  man  is  but  a  worm.  Shall  a  worm 
assume  the  powers  of  the  Great  God,  and  think 

6 


122  WOOL-GA  TIIER1NG. 

that  the  elements  will  obey  him?"  —  this  pirate 
prince  lives  still  in  our  far-off  Western  world, 
but  lives  with  the  wisdom  of  his  later  rather 
than  the  ferocity  of  his  earlier  years.  The  pi 
rate's  cave  is  but  a  tame  and  comfortable  affair. 
The  pirate  himself  is  an  honest,  thrifty  farmer, 
who  came  hither  quietly,  with  some  placid  woman 
ly  face  for  figure-head  of  his  ship,  and  with  many 
peaceable  families  in  his  company,  —  yet  borne 
by  a  power  which,  with  all  its  seeming  and  real 
quietude,  would  have  sent  the  Great  Dragon  of 
his  great  ancestor  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  with 
one  puff  from  its  iron  throat.  Ah  well !  we 
were  all  pirates  then,  only  some  were  up  and 
some  were  down.  We  have  all  grown  graver 
and  wiser  since,  and  Canute  is  much  more  wor 
thily  employed  in  breaking  wild  land  in  Minne 
sota,  with  a  span  of  horses  and  a  good  plough, 
than  he  was  in  breaking  skulls  with  his  battle- 
axe  eight  hundred  years  ago.  The  old  name  is 
contracted  into  Knute,  and  among  these  new 
settlements  of  the  old  races,  Knutes  and  Knute- 
sons  abound.  They  are  but  scantily  supplied 
with  family  names,  and  Mr.  Knute's  son  is  dis 
tinguished  from  his  father  by  the  suffix  of  son  to 


WOOL-GATHERING.  123 

the  paternal  name,  —  and  John's  heir  is  of  course 
Johnson.  Here  we  can  see  the  language  going 
through  its  processes.  It  is  a  leaf  of  the  world's 
history,  taken  from  the  book  of  the  past,  and 
happening  all  over  again  under  our  own  eyes. 
That  figure  is  rather  unmanageable,  and  I  re 
spectfully  hand  it  over  to  the  Gentle  Reader  for 
what  it  is  worth.  But  I  am  not  without  hope 
that  the  theory  of  "  The  Stars  and  the  Earth " 
may  yet  be  found  true,  so  that  by  travelling  far 
enough  we  may  one  day  see  Adam  and  Eve 
trimming  apple-trees  in  the  Garden.  It  would 
be  no  stranger  than  for  me  to  be  thus  set  shak 
ing  hands  with  Canute,  Harold,  and  Hardicanute. 
Our  Western  Scandinavians  have  given  up 
the  vices  of  their  roving  ancestors,  and  have  not 
yet  learned  our  own,  so  that  they  are  in  some 
respects  in  a  state  of  touching  innocence.  They 
have  a  most  uncivilized  horror  of  debt.  A  com 
pany  of  them,  lately  arrived,  began  their  farming- 
work  almost  without  tools.  Their  money  had 
been  spent  in  the  voyage  and  the  farms.  Offers 
were  made  to  sell  ploughs,  and  other  equally  ne 
cessary  implements,  on  credit,  but  they  refused, 
choosing  to  remain  their  own  masters,  and  work 


124  WOOL-GATHERING. 

under  great  disadvantage,  rather  than  become  the 
servant  of  the  lender.  I  sigh  to  think  how  little 
time  it  will  take  to  overcome  these  scruples.  In 
politics,  the  old  Norse  instinct  heads  them  straight 
to  freedom.  Strangers  in  the  country,  strangers 
to  the  language,  strangers  necessarily  for  the 
most  part  to  the  issues  of  our  politics,  —  they 
are  almost  sure  to  come  up  to  the  polls  and 
vote  right,  in  solid  phalanx.  One  of  our  public 
men  tells  a  pleasant  story  of  his  own  attempt 
to  reach  the  minds  of  a  group  that  he  saw  in 
his  audience  at  a  political  gathering.  Hale, 
sturdy  men,  they  stood  steadfastly  through  it  all, 
laughing  when  others  laughed,  but  with  a  cer 
tain  blank  look  that  all  his  argument,  eloquence, 
and  humor,  launched  directly  at  them,  failed  to 
remove.  After  exhausting  his  resources  in  vain, 
he  inquired  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  who  they 
were,  and  learned  that  they  were  Scandinavian 
new-comers,  who  had  probably  not  understood 
one  word  of  what  he  had  been  saying.  But, 
noble  men,  they  had  adopted  their  new  country, 
and  were  determined  bravely  to  "accept  the 
situation." 

We    dine    on   the  shores  of  a   beautiful   lake, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  125 

such  as  one  finds  dropped  into  the  dells  any 
where  in  Minnesota.  A  little  knoll  partly  cov 
ered  with  low  bushes,  and  partly  "  open  to 
sunshine  and  the  birds,"  is  our  dais.  With  the 
brilliant  background  of  autumn  foliage,  and  the 
brilliant  foreground  of  blue  lake,  we  cluster  on 
the  open  slope  around  our  commissary,  and  feast 
at  a  better  than  Roman  banquet,  —  with  the 
soothing  or  inspiriting  music  of  the  wind  in  the 
neighboring  tree-tops,  and  with  solid  comfort  rep 
resented  in  the  horses  standing  by  the  carriage 
at  the  lakeside,  and  munching  their  oats,  as,  un 
numbered  ages  ago,  Homeric  horses  munching 
white  barley  and  rye  stood  by  their  chariots  and 
waited  for  the  bright-throned  morning.  But  the 
thousand  watchfires  by  the  streams  of  Xanthus 
were  not  so  beautiful  as  the  soft  haze  of  this 
Indian  summer,  warming  us  to  the  soul  with 
its  delicious  glow.  And  then  we  resume  our 
journey,  winding  again  picturesquely  through  the 
same  oak  openings,  —  oak  closings  I  should  call 
them,  for  they  close  you  in  among  clumps  and 
groves  of  trees,  about  as  large  as  apple-trees, 
and  a  little  way  off  looking  very  much  like  them, 
well  splashed  with  scarlet,  so  that  we  have  a 


126  WOOL-GATHERING. 

constant  sensation  of  riding  through  some  gen 
tleman's  grounds.  I  suppose  they  are  called 
openings  because  there  is  no  entangling  under 
growth,  but  only  the  bare,  hard  ground,  —  sward 
I  could  hardly  call  it,  for  there  is  no  greensward 
in  Minnesota  that  I  can  find,  —  only  little  fairy 
circles  and  patches  of  green,  soft  New  Eng 
land  grass,  that  has  sprung  up  in  the  wake  of 
civilization.  The  native  sod  has  no  turf.  The 
grass  seems  to  spring  up  like  rye  and  other 
grain,  with  no  velvety  inviting  foundation ;  but 
the  little  flecks  of  green  that  appear  of  them 
selves  wherever  the  settler  plants  his  foot  give 
hope  that  the  tame  grasses  will  one  day  subju 
gate  and  supplant  the  wild.  So,  after  all,  the 
poet's  fancy  is  a  fact  of  science.  Quicquid  cat- 
caverit,  hie  rosa  fiat! 

"  From  the  meadow  your  walks  have  left  so  sweet 

That,  whenever  a  March-wind  sighs, 
He  sets  the  jewel-print  of  your  feet 
In  violets  blue  as  your  eyes." 

"Here,"   we   might   say   of   civilization,  —  as 
CEglamour  said  of  his 

"  drowned  love, 
Earine  !  the  sweet  Earine  ! 
The  bright  and  beautiful  Earine  I"  — 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  127 

"Here  she  was  wont  to  go  !  and  here  !  and  here  ! 
Just  where  those  daises,  pinks,  and  violets  grow : 
The  world  may  find  the  spring  by  following  her, 
For  other  print  her  airy  steps  ne'er  left. 
Her  treading  Avould  not  bend  a  blade  of  grass, 
Or  shake  the  downy  blow-ball  from  his  stalk  ! 
But  like  the  soft  west-wind  she  shot  along, 
And  where  she  went  the  flowers  took  thickest  root, 
As  she  had  sowed  them  with  her  odorous  foot." 

For  daisies  and  pinks  and  violets  read  grasses, 
and  we  have  a  succinct  statement  of  fact,  —  with 
a  sad  exception,  for  the  airy  steps  of  man  leave 
many  other  prints  than  these  cheering  oases, — 
some  for  weal,  some,  alas  !  for  woe. 

Very  often  our  road  is  bordered,  and  some 
times  broken,  with  gullies,  which  at  home  we 
should  be  inclined  to  call  dangerous,  and  con 
vene  town-meetings  over,  and  write  to  the  coun 
ty  papers  about,  and  guard  with  rails  by  day 
and  lanterns  by  night.  The  soil  seems  to  be 
loose  and  easily  washed  away.  Sometimes  you 
drive  along  by  the  edge  of  a  rugged  precipice 
twenty  feet  deep,  and  a  precipice  that  seems  to 
give  no  sort  of  reason  for  its  being  there.  In 
places  the  rushing  waters  have  whirled  in,  and 
swept  away  great  veins  of  the  road  directly 
across  the  wheel-track,  till  you  can  look  straight 


128  WOOL-GATHERING. 

down,  perhaps  half  a  dozen  feet;  and  the  trav 
eller  just  turns  out  and  makes  a  new  track 
around  the  hole.  I  never  heard  of  any  acci 
dent  at  these  places.  Perhaps  it  is  like  the 
story  they  tell  us  at  the  White  Mountains,  of 
the  woman  who  thought  it  was  not  worth  while 
to  go  to  the  expense  of  putting  a  curb  around 
the  well,  as  they  never  lost  but  two  children 
in  it!  Certainly,  I  never  saw  more  haggard- 
looking  roads  than  some  of  these  in  Minnesota. 
Nearly  all  the  way  to  Saint  Paul  we  have 
an  escort  of  hawks  and  owls,  and  other  fowl,  — 
no  very  sentimental  troop  to  be  sure,  —  but  a 
bird  is  a  bird  even  if  it  is  an  owl  perching  on 
a  bough  and  staring  at  you  in  his  stupid  owl- 
fashion.  Hawks  I  have  a  spite  against  on  prin 
ciple,  remembering  the  impudence  with  which 
they  have  swooped  and  soared  again  before  my 
very  eyes,  with  my  own  little  downy  chickens 
in  their  fierce  jaws,  —  if  jaw  that  can  be  called 
which  jaw  is  none.  But  these  hawks  have  none 
of  my  property  on  their  consciences,  and  I  am 
free  to  admire  their  beauty,  grace,  and  strength. 
Indeed,  they  are  not  only  innocent  of  my  chick 
ens,  but  they  are  a  positive  help  to  the  farmer, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  129 

doing  more  good  than  harm.     They  rarely  enter 
his  farm-yard,  but  they  prey  upon  the   squirrels 
and  mice.     When  a  hawk  comes  near,  you  will 
hear  the  short,  sharp  whistle  of  the  squirrels  in 
every  direction.     This  is  just  as  they  enter  their 
holes   and  feel   themselves  safe.      But  now  and 
then  one  is  a  little  too  late,  and  finds   himself 
in   the    condition    of  the    Discontented    Squirrel 
we  used   to   read  of  in  the   school-book.     Well 
he  may   be  a    Discontented    Squirrel,    squirming 
in  mid-air  in  the  talons  of  a  hawk.     So  is  kept 
up    that    pretty    round    of    internecine    warfare, 
which  we  all  descant  upon   with  so   much  com 
placency    when    we   are   on   the    outside    of   its 
circle.     Occasionally,  we  scare  up  immense  flocks 
of  blackbirds,    which  seern   to   fill   the    air,    and 
after  fluttering  awhile  settle  again  on  the  ground, 
thick  and  black  as  flies,  —  or  they  perch  on  the 
fence  in    one   long  black  line  till  we   come   up, 
and  off  they  wheel.     Or  a  group  of  prairie-chick 
ens   sails   overhead,   or   a   prairie-lark   starts   up, 
hardly  yet  familiar  with  the  spectacle  which  has 
so   lately    presented   itself  to   the    eyes    of  these 
wilderness-dwellers.      Wild  birds   of  the   woods, 
'I  wish  we  could  go  our  ways  without  disturbing 
6*  i 


1 9  :>  WOOL-GA  THEPJXG. 

them,  —  but  if  we  scare  the  wild  birds  away,  we 
know  the  dear  little  tame  sprites  that  now  we 
sorely  miss,  sparrows  and  robins  and  bluebirds, 
will  follow  us  and  hover  around  us,  and  haunt 
our  orchards,  —  the  orchards  we  are  going  to 
plant  for  them,  —  and  the  homely  brave  little 
snow-birds  will  flock  to  us  in  winter  to  pick  up 
the  crumbs  that  fall  firom  our  tables. 

But  rolling  prairie  and  doubtful  road  and  heavy 
woods  have  brought  us  to  the  busy  city.  Out 
firom  haunt  of  hawk  and  blackbird  into  the 
thronged  and  noisy  street.  There  is  no  easy 
transition  of  suburban  cottages  and  comfortable 
farm-houses;  but  from  the  depths  of  a  thirty- 
mile  wilderness  we  look  down  upon  a  stone  city, 
apparently  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  As 
we  tarry  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  to  feast  our 

9  with  the  beauty  and  magnificence  of  the 
picture,  —  the  westward  hastening  sun  glorifying 
even  thi>  glorious  river,  touching  the  wide,  wild, 
splendid  woods  to  a  bewildering  radiance,  —  the 
city  lies  below  us,  a  lovely  dream  in  stone,  a 
fairy  charm,  the  beautiful  fretwork  of  the  frost 
which  a  night  has  created,  which  the  day  shall 
dissolve.  But  it  is  no  dream-work  now.  She 


WOOL-GATHERING.  131 

had  her  dream-life,  this  wilderness  city,  as  many 
a  one  knows  to  his  cost.  Men  went  mad,  as 
men  do,  with  the  accursed  hunger  for  gold,  and 
great  fortunes  were  made,  not  by  the  steady  la 
bor  of  the  hands,  or  the  wise  work  of  the  brains, 
but  by  empty  breath  of  the  lips.  All  the  lux 
uries  of  old  civilization,  all  the  extrayagance  of 
newly  gained  wealth,  were  brought  into  this  for 
est,  so  little  was  its  lesson  learned,  so  eager  are 
we  to  grasp  the  shadow  without  being  careful  to 
possess  the  substance,  without  which  the  shadow 
is  not  eyen  a  specious  seeming,  but  only  a  yain 
and  yulgar  pretence.  The  bubble  sparkled  and 
sailed  as  long  as  a  bubble  may,  and  then  the  hon 
est  air-currents  puffed  it,  and  the  honest  motes 
struck  it,  and  there  was  no  longer  a  brilliant 
graceful  bubble,  but  there  was  still  a  useful  drop 
of  water  and  the  solid  earth  beneath,  which  is 
much.  So  sudden  the  doom,  that  costly  garnish- 
ings,  ordered  from  the  East  in  the  height  of 
prosperity,  arrived  in  the  depth  of  adversity,  and 
were  reclaimed  by  the  seller  as  the  sole  possible 
form  of  payment.  Women  who  went  to  par 
ties  luminous  with  twenty-thousand  dollars*  worth 
of  diamonds  now  go  to  market  selling  yegeta- 


132  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

bles,  and  very  likely  are  just  as  happy  with 
their  turnips  as  they  were  with  their  jewels, 
since  a  turnip  that  represents  a  good  thing  is  far 
more  valuable  than  a  diamond  that  stands  only 
for  a  bad  thing.  Now,  there  seems  to  be  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  true  prosperity.  The  pro 
cess  is  that  of  natural,  gradual,  and  still  remark 
able  growth.  Values  are  real,  and  not  fictitious. 
Yet  this  great  Western  country  is  so  wonderful, 
so  alluring  to  the  eye,  so  rich  in  promise  of 
every  good,  so  strange  and  vast  and  uncompre- 
hended,  that  I  do  not  wonder  men's  heads  were 
turned. 

The  Mississippi  has  somehow  given  the  law 
of  the  land.  As  the  river  winds  along  under 
its  steep  bank,  so  our  road  winds  under  over 
hanging  cliffs ;  but  the  people  seem  sometimes 
to  have  forgotten  that  their  cliffs  have  not  the 
stability  of  the  Mississippi's,  and  they  have  set 
their  houses  on  the  edge,  so  near,  so  high,  that 
it  makes  one  dizzy  to  look  up  at  them.  In  this 
easily  crumbling  soil,  it  seems  to  me  that  their 
rolling  down  fifty  feet  into  the  road  is  but  a 
question  of  time.  Occasionally,  I  see  a  house 
set  down  on  a  shelf  of  the  river-bank,  half- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  133 

way  between  the  water  and  the  top  of  the  bank. 
Indeed,  the  inhabitants  seem  purposely  to  dare 
danger,  and,  wherever  they  find  a  bank,  go  and 
build  a  house  on  the  edge  of  it.  Above  our 
heads  here  is  a  beehive,  which  report  says  net 
ted  to  its  owner  last  year  two  thousand  dollars, 
and  the  fortunate  man  doubtless  sings  among 
his  flowers  the  pleasant  refrain,  — 

"  And  still  by  me  shall  hum  the  bee, 
Forever  and  forever." 

The  St.  Paul  side  of  the  Mississippi  is  higher 
than  the  western  bank,  and  the  bridge  is  con 
sequently  a  considerable  ascent.  The  piers  are 
of  stone,  and  look  solid  enough  to  resist  the 
action  of  time.  There  is  nothing  particularly 
beautiful  about  it,  but  the  interlocking  and  sup 
porting  timbers,  a  little  way  off,  have  a  delicate, 
lace-work  look,  spanning  the  broad  river.  The 
bridge  is  more  than  seventeen  hundred  feet  long, 
and  is  ninety  feet  above  low  water.  Once  over 
the  bridge,  we  are  in  the  city,  which  is  largely 
built  of  light,  soft-colored  stone,  quarried  here. 
The  most  marvellous  thing  about  the  city  is, 
that  it  is  here.  These  massive  stone  piles,  that 
look  as  if  they  were  built  for  ages,  and  would 


134  WOOL-GATHERING. 

stand  flood  and  fire  and  earthquake,  these  ornate 
facades  wrought  out  with  patient  skill,  this  whirl 
and  whirr  of  human  life,  springing  up  in  the 
forest  primeval,  is  a  standing  wonder  of  the  world, 
or  would  be  if  the  world  but  knew  of  it.  There 
are  wofully  dusty  streets,  and  shabby  plank  side 
walks,  and  shabby  shanties;  but  these  are  evi 
dently  the  remnants  of  early  poverty,  and  the 
makeshifts  of  necessity.  There  is  a  tendency  to 
truth  in  building,  which  looks  hopeful  for  the 
future.  It  will  not  be  long  before  the  solid 
rock  will  crowd  out  the  debris,  and  the  city 
will  shape  itself  into  stately  symmetry. 

Our  hotel  arrangements  must  be  supposed  to 
represent  a  transition  stage.  We  have  Brussels 
carpets,  and  lace  curtains,  and  linen  sheets,  and  — 
hatred  therewith.  Also,  the  house-builders  failed 
to  set  their  foundations  firm,  and  the  house  has 
settled  here  and  there  at  an  alarming  rate.  We 
have  plenty  of  waiters  and  plenty  of  dishes,  but 
everything  is  somehow  marred  in  the  cooking. 
I  know  of  a  surety  that  the  onions  for  yester 
day's  dinner  were  boiled  in  the  tea-kettle,  and 
the  scent  of  the  roses  hangs  round  it  still.  It 
is  as  if  everything  was  well  meant  and  well 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  135 

begun,  but  blighted  in  the  process.  When  shall 
some  genius  arise  in  his  mailed  might,  and  im 
press  upon  landlords  the  great  truth,  that  three 
dishes  perfect  in  flavor  are  more  acceptable  than 
a  whole  octavo  volume  of  B  flats,  —  that  clean 
liness  without  tapestry  or  draperies  or  Brussels  is 
great  gain  ?  Why  should  Minnesota  turn  away 
from  the  delicious  repasts  of  her  own  farms,  to 
dabble  with  unskilful  hands  in  greasy  foreign 
messes  ?  Let  the  old  States  flounder  in  old 
ways  if  they  will,  but  let  the  brave  new  States 
turn  over  a  new  leaf. 

By  way  of  comparison,  we  presently  try  anoth 
er  hotel.  It  is  an  improvement  in  point  of  rooms, 
which  are  fresh  and  tidy,  and  well  stocked  with 
a  remarkable  number  and  variety  of  spiders. 
The  mode  of  attendance  is  peculiar,  indicative 
of  independence  and  individuality  of  character. 
At  the  entrance  two  boys  appear  to  take  charge 
of  ourselves  and  our  carriage,  but  the  division 
of  labor  seems  not  very  distinctly  defined ;  both 
make  love  to  the  carriage,  and  display  a  very 
perfect  indifference  to  ourselves.  Boy  Number 
One  climbs  upon  the  driver's  seat,  seizes  the 
reins,  and  directs  boy  Number  Two  to  attend  to 


13C  WOOL-GA  TI1E1UNO. 

the  parcels.  Boy  Number  Two  has  a  noble 
ambition  i'or  horses,  and  a  noble  disdain  for  par 
cels,  and  a  very  pretty  skirmish  ensues.  lle- 
1  wee  11  them  our  parcels  receive  scant  courtesy, 
—  shawls  are  straggling  from  carriage  to  pave 
ment., —  travelling-bags  shake,  their  plump  sides 
wildly.  Kdibles  and  potables  are  jumbled  to 
gether  as  fate  wills,  and  we  stand  on  the  side 
walk  taking  a  lively  interest  in  the  brisk  con 
flict,  and  regretfully  putting  an  end  to  it  when 
Ibrbearanee.  ceases  to  bo  a  virtue.  The  same 
energetic  Young  American  spirit  characterize^ 
tho  service  throughout,  —  or  rather  those  boys 
seem  to  be  the  chief  managers.  The  rooms  are 
destitute  of  water,  and  unfortunately  of  bells 
also.  We  prowl  about  the  house,  and  finally 
discover  a  bell-rope  in  the  parlor.  Pull  and 
wait,  wait,  and  pull.  Presently  behold  a  boy! 
He  makes  fair  promises,  but  no  water  comes 
to  our  rooms.  Another  exploration  discovers  a 
pitcher  of  water  in  a  hall  below.  Probably  the 
boy  has  again  been  sei/ed  with  a  spirit  of  ad 
venture,  and  is  fighting  it  out  somewhere  on 
that  line.  The  pitcher  is  at  once  appropriated, 
but  what  is  a  single  pitcher  among  so  many  ? 


WOOL-  GA  THERTXG.  137 

Then  11101*0  is  no  tumbler,  mug,  or  goblet.  Our 
party  is  resolved  into  a  rotary  committee,  —  a 
sort  of  living  chain-pump,  revolving  between  the 
parlor  and  our  rooms,  in  a  constant  endeavor 
to  bring  up  water.  Whenever  a  boy  becomes 
visible  to  the  naked  eye,  he  is  caught  and  col 
lared,  and  commissioned  to  bring  water.  The 
tumbler  boy  is  encountered  after  half  an  hour's 
absence,  and  protests  he  has  been  diligently 
occupied  all  the  while  in  a  vain  search  for 
tumblers.  Boy  answering  the  parlor-bell  coolly 
passes  you  a  well-used  goblet,  on  the  parlor- 
table,  for  your  private  delectation.  Evidently 
there  has  been  no  such  stir-about  among  the 
glasses,  at  least  within  the  memory  of  these 
youngest  inhabitants  ;  and  when  comparative 
order  reigns  in  Warsaw,  and  you  are  collected 
in  the  parlor  in  a  state  of  quiescence,  a  sus 
picious  snickering  outside  the  door,  and  a  fur 
tive  eye  or  two  through  the  cracks,  indicate 
that  the  enterprising  boys,  released  from  their 
arduous  duties,  are  taking  observations  on  their 
strange  guests. 

From   St.    Paul,  the   natural   order   of   things 
takes  us  to  St.  Anthony,  over  broad,  high,  ex- 


138  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

cellent  roads,  running  through  a  country  well 
laid  out,  cultivated,  and  settled,  and  bordered 
by  large,  comfortable,  and  often  elegant  houses 
enclosed  in  pleasant  gardens.  Saint  Anthony  as 
a  town  seems  very  well  adapted  to  his  Saint- 
ship,  if  we  may  believe  the  tradition  which 
ascribes  to  him  a  chronic  dislike  of  water,  a 
taste  for  hair-shirt  costumes  and  fighting  with 
devils.  A  large  stone  building,  with  centre  and 
wings,  on  a  sightly  eminence  facing  the  river,  is 
the  only  place  that  looks  like  a  hotel,  and  we 
meditate  the  propriety  of  making  arrangements 
for  the  night,  before  going  farther.  To  save 
the  trouble  of  mounting  the  embankment,  we 
inquire,  at  a  grocery  below,  if  we  shall  be  likely 
to  find  accommodations  there. 

"  Wall,  Sir,"  is  the  reply,  with  a  "  knowing  " 
look,  "  you  '11  find  plenty  of  Graham  bread  and 
Bloomers !  " 

Excellent  for  entrees,  but  not  absolutely  desir 
able  for  the  piece  de  resistance;  so  we  go  on, 
resolving  to  run  for  luck  in  the  matter  of  inns. 
Shall  we  laugh  at  Saint  Anthony?  Let  them 
laugh  that  win.  While  the  pen  is  in  my  hand, 
writing  this  paragraph,  comes  the  morning  paper, 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  139 

and  says :  "  The  various  mills  and  manufac 
tories  at  St.  Anthony's  Falls,  Minnesota,  pro 
duced  last  year  77,419,548  feet  of  lumber,  valued 
at  $1,885,000 ;  172,000  barrels  of  flour,  worth 
$1,661,500  ;  166,500  yards  woollen  cloth,  valued 
at  $104,000  ;  and  pails,  tubs,  paper,  machinery, 
building  materials,  furniture,  &c.,  sufficient  to 
carry  the  aggregate  up  to  $4,848,150.  The 
capital  invested  amounts  to  $1,951,000."  This 
I  can  vouch  for;  I  saw  them  at  it!  I  saw  the 
logs  parting  into  boards,  and  the  wheat  travel 
ling  up  stairs  and  down  stairs  till  it  lost  heart, 
and  fell  into  flour.  I  saw  the  pails  whirling 
themselves  smooth,  and  the  slats  setting  up  to 
be  tubs,  and  vats  of  pulp  smoking  hot  with  the 
frantic  effort  to  become  paper,  and  hundreds  of 
threads  skipping  across  the  floor  in  transports 
of  delight  at  the  prospect  of  promotion  into 
cloth.  The  fact  is,  Saint  Anthony  stands  on 
one  side  of  the  river,  and  Minneapolis  on  the 
other,  and  between  them  both  a  sorry  life  they 
lead  the  poor  old  Father  of  Waters.  His  back 
is  broken  with  mills,  and  his  throat  is  choked 
with  logs,  and  what  with  the  rocks  and  the 
sluices  and  the  splinters,  it  is  as  much  as  he 


140  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

can  do  to  get  along  at  all.  Never  was  there 
such  an  over-worked  river.  It  is  an  unceasing 
hand-to-hand  conflict  between  man  and  nature, 
and  man  gets  the  upper  hand,  at  least  for  a 
while.  Not  a  current  steals  through  till  it  has 
turned  its  tub,  or  sawed  its  board,  or  spun  its 
piece :  and  then  it  creeps  away  with  a  sort  of 
shamefaced  air,  as  if  it  felt  itself  what  it  looks, 
a  swash  of  used-up  soap-suds,  and  not  at  all 
the  great  Mississippi  River  ! 

The  Falls  of  Saint  Anthony  have  disappeared 
in  the  general  melee,  and  there  is  little  left  but 
the  rush  and  roar  of  rapids.  The  royal  astrono 
mer,  Alphonso,  was  it,  who  thought  he  could  have 
given  the  Creator  of  the  universe  some  impor 
tant  suggestions,  if  he  had  been  present  at  the 
making  of  it?  Our  Western  friends  do  not  con 
tent  themselves  with  a  modest,  hypothetical  sug 
gestion,  but,  believing  that  it  is  never  too  late 
to  mend,  have  actually  gone  to  work  tinkering 
up  the  Mississippi.  From  what  seemed  to  bs 
the  main  relic  of  the  fall  —  of  St.  Anthony  I 
mean,  not  of  man  in  general  —  they  have  turned 
away  the  river  in  order  to  bandage  up  the  stone 
or  something,  I  cannot  make  out  precisely  what. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  141 

At  any  rate,  there  is  the  bare,  brown,  wet  rock 
staring  out  in  full  view,  and  workmen  fitting 
some  kind  of  wooden  frame-work  into  the  river 
bed.  This  rock  is  shaped  thus:  (^ C^,  and 

appears  to  be  a  broad  fence,  considerably  higher 
than  the  heads  of  the  workmen.  It  looks  as  if  it 
must  have  been  somehow  hewn  or  blasted  into 
shape,  but  I  am  assured  that,  like  Topsy,  it  only 
growed.  The  water  has  cracked  and  rent  away 
the  rock  from  year  to  year.  Huge  masses  of 
fragments,  cleaved  off  in  squares  and  oblongs 
and  irregular  shapes,  lie  heaped  and  tilted  in 
every  imaginable  posture  of  confusion.  Add  to 
this  the  refuse  of  the  saw-mills,  swept  along  how 
ever  and  wherever  a  raging  current  could  sweep 
or  set  them;  piles  of  logs  intertwisted  at  every 
possible  angle,  where  the  river  has  lodged  them, 
or  lying  across  half  the  stream,  awaiting  their 
turn  at  the  mills ;  a  constant  stream  of  boards 
running  down  the  sluices,  the  never-ceasing  snarl 
of  horses  and  carts,  the  shouting  of  men,  the  whiz 
of  the  saws,  the  whirr  of  the  machinery  that  from 
island  to  island,  and  from  bank  to  bank,  nearly 
spans  the  river ;  and  over  all  and  through  all,  the 
rage  of  the  mad  waters,  —  and  you  have  a  scene 


142  WOOL-GATHERING. 

of  tumult  that  might  make  our  patron  Saint  fan 
cy  the  devils  were  fighting  each  other,  and  had 
no  need  that  he  should  lend  a  hand.  If  his 
much-belabored  Excellency  could  leave  his  des 
erts,  his  demons,  his  caves  hollowed  in  the  sand, 
—  could  come  out  of  these  woods  with  bell  and 
crutch,  to  see  what  manner  of  place  it  is  that  has 
named  itself  with  his  name,  —  he  would  doubt 
less  think  it  but  a  sorry  scene  to  nourish  his 
saintliness  withal.  Remembering  the  wealth  and 
fame  and  fashion,  that  he  renounced  for  scour- 
gings  and  solitude,  and  all  manner  of  diaboli 
cal  society,  in  the  cause  of  holiness,  he  must 
be  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  fix  upon  the  especial 
feature  of  his  life  and  character  which  gave  its 
christening  to  this  busy,  money-making  commu 
nity,  and  we  can  imagine  him  sighing  in  half  de 
spair,  "  Who  knoweth  what  is  good  for  man  in 
this  life,  all  the  days  of  his  vain  life  which  he 
spendeth  as  a  shadow  ?  for  who  can  tell  a  man 
what  shall  be  after  him  under  the  sun?"  But 
I  feel  quite  sure  that  if  the  holy  man,  with 
the  experience  of  all  his  heavenly  years  added 
to  that  of  his  earthly  life,  would  but  reflect 
that  here  is  the  best  water-power  in  the  known 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  143 

world  ;  that  it  is  the  head  of  navigation  on  the 
Mississippi  River,  and  a  navigation  two  thou 
sand  miles  long ;  that  there  is  a  great  country 
of  farms  and  timber  lying  behind  us ;  that  with 
our  machinery  we  can  convert  a  whole  tree- 
trunk  into  boards  at  one  fell  swoop,  and  then, 
turning  the  river  into  a  dray-horse,  can  send 
them  floating  down  hundreds  of  miles  wherever 
they  are  wanted ;  that  a  swarm  of  islands  have 
been  dropped  into  the  river  on  purpose  to  raise 
mills  on,  and  that  the  earth  has  been  stuffed 
with  rock  on  purpose  to  build  them  with,  —  he 
would  never  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  ask  all 
these  people  to  lay  down  their  tools,  and  put  on 
a  hair-cloth  shirt,  and  dig  a  hole  in  the  woods, 
and  go  and  sit  in  it  twenty  years.  He  could 
not  fail,  one  must  suppose,  to  see  that,  however 
adapted  such  a  course  might  have  been  to  the 
Egyptian  character,  it  suits  not  at  all  with  the 
American  genius ;  and  doubtless  he  would  be 
well  content  if  these  workers  in  wood  and  woollen 
but  make  as  good  saints  as  can  be  fashioned  out 
of  the  raw  material  of  millers  and  mechanics, 
-which  I  take  to  be  quite  as  good  a  kind  as  the 
Alexandrian  variety. 


144  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

And  as  I  stand  here  in  the  midst  of  the  uproar, 
half  daft  with  the  rush  and  whirl,  I  can  but 
see  how  curiously  and  how  completely  the  prom 
ise  has  been  fulfilled  to  good  Saint  Anthony. 
We  know  how  pluckily  he  defied  the  demon, 
when,  at  his  own  request,  he  had  been  taken 
back  to  the  cave,  whence  he  had  been  borne 
senseless  from  the  conflict.  "  *  Ha  !  thou  arch 
tempter  !  didst  thou  think  I  had  fled  ?  Lo,  here 
I  am  again,  I,  Anthony !  I  challenge  all  thy 
malice !  I  spit  on  thee !  I  have  strength  to 
combat  still ! '  When  he  had  said  these  words, 
the  cavern  shook,  and  Satan,  rendered  furious 
by  his  discomfiture,  called  up  his  fiends,  and 
said,  'Let  us  now  affright  him  with  all  the 
terrors  that  can  overwhelm  the  soul  of  man.' 
Then  hideous  sounds  were  heard ;  lions,  tigers, 
wolves,  dragons,  serpents,  scorpions,  all  shapes 
of  horror,  '  worse  than  fancy  ever  feigned,  or 
fear  conceived,'  came  roaring,  howling,  hissing, 
shrieking  in  his  ears  ;  scaring  him,  stunning  him ; 
—  but,  in  the  midst  of  these  abominable  and  ap 
palling  shapes  and  sounds,  suddenly  there  shone 
from  heaven  a  great  light,  which  fell  upon  An 
thony,  and  all  these  terrors  vanished  at  once, 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  145 

and  he  arose  unhurt  and  strong  to  endure.  And 
he  said,  looking  up,  '  O  Lord  Jesus  Christ ! 
where  wert  thou  in  those  moments  of  anguish  ?  ' 
And  Christ  replied,  in  a  mild  and  tender  voice, 
'  Anthony,  I  was  here  beside  thee,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  thee  contend  and  overcome.  Be  of  good 
heart ;  for  I  will  make  thy  name  famous  through 
all  the  world.'  " 

Minneapolis  is  just  opposite  Saint  Anthony,  — 
in  fact  they  come  so  near  touching  noses,  as  the 
children  say,  across  the  river,  with  their  mills 
and  machinery,  that  we  are  half  the  time  in 
a  maze,  and  hardly  know  which  is  which.  Be 
tween  the  two  cities  is  the  first  suspension 
bridge  ever  thrown  across  the  Mississippi,  and 
a  work  of  no  small  pride,  it  may  well  be  sup 
posed.  One  can  tolerate  a  little  pride  in  the 
structure.  It  swings  in  the  air  as  light  and 
graceful  as  a  spider's  web,  and  in  its  beauty  is 
the  hiding  of  its  strength.  On  the  right  as  we 
cross  is  fair  Hennepin's  Island,  in  all  the  glory 
of  its  gold  and  scarlet  autumnal  robes.  With  its 
fine  trees,  its  quiet  drives,  its  shady  walks,  its 
brilliant  sunshine,  it  lies  like  a  dream  of  peace, 
undisturbed  by  all  the  clash  and  clamor  of  trade. 


146  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

If  Father  Hennepin  himself  gave  it  his  name, 
choosing  his  own  monument  more  durable  than 
brass,  he  certainly  showed  good  taste,  though 
he  did  sometimes  draw  a  long  bow  I  Yet  I 
can  easily  conceive  that  the  adventurous  priest 
became  a  little  bewildered  by  all  the  marvels 
of  his  journeyings,  and,  mingling  his  imagina 
tion  with  his  memory,  perhaps  really  thought 
in  his  old  age  that  he  had  traversed  the  whole 
length  of  the  Great  River,  and  seen  wonder 
ful  things.  I  would  not  insure  myself  against 
a  similar  result;  and  as  my  thoughts  have  a 
Northern  rather  than  a  Southern  tendency,  I 
am  not  at  all  confident  that  I  shall  not  pres 
ently  write  a  treatise  on  the  discovery  of  an 
open  Polar  Sea,  and  the  Northwest  Passage, 
founded  on  my  personal  observations. 

Past  the  island,  across  the  bridge,  and  we  are 
in  Minneapolis,  —  a  city  that  seems  to  have  shot 
ahead  of  St.  Anthony,  and  already  makes  no 
small  display  of  solidity  and  comeliness  in  archi 
tecture.  Four  hundred  houses,  we  are  told,  have 
been  built  the  past  season,  and  everybody  is  as 
busy  as  if  he  meant  to  put  up  four  hundred 
more.  It  is  the  great  centre  of  lumber-trade, 


WOOL-GA  THEEING.  147 

they  tell  us  exultantly,  and  the  land  round  about 
is  the  very  garden  of  Minnesota.  Better  still, 
I  may  modestly  add,  the  population  of  the  city 
and  vicinity  is  largely  of  New  England  origin, 
and  therefore  we  hope  not  to  be  ashamed  in  this 
same  confident  boasting. 

But  I  have  another  thought  in  Minneapolis. 

Some  years  ago  I  wrote  —  perhaps  I  shall  be 
pardoned  for  quoting  the  passage,  which  has  doubt 
less  been  long  forgotten  —  of  a  young  woman 
who  bore  at  school,  "  in  her  mean  and  scanty 
dress,  her  thin  cheeks,  and  hard  hands,  —  the 

marks  of  poverty  and  toil Conscious  as 

she  must  have  been  that  she  served  a  hard  task 
master,  no  word  of  complaint  ever  passed  her 
lips.  Always  cheerful,  modest,  happy,  willing 
to  be  pleased,  grateful  for  kindness,  and  patient 
of  any  chance  neglect,  you  might  have  supposed 
her  entirely  insensible  to  the  motives  and  feelings 
that  influence  ordinary  girls,  were  it  not  for  the 
occasional  quiver  of  the  lip,  the  quick,  nervous 
gesture,  the  moistened  eye,  and  faltering  tone. 
She  left  school  with  disease  lurking  in  her  sys 
tem,  slowly  and  surely  undermining  the  citadel 
of  life ;  but  she  kept  up  her  courage.  She  had 


148  WOOL-GA  THEEING. 

no  idea  of  dying  till  her  hour  should  come,  and, 
as  long  as  she  should  live,  she  determined  that 
her  living  should  bring  forth  fruit.  She  earned 
money  enough  to  transport  herself  to  a  climate 
which  was  pronounced  favorable  to  her  health  ; 
there,  in  a  wild  backwoods,  among  a  rough  peo 
ple,  who  had  forgotten,  if  they  ever  knew,  the 
common  refinements  of  life,  she  opened  a  school. 
From  her  rude  home  she  wrote  merry  letters, 
describing  her  adventures  and  her  circumstances. 
There  was  no  talk  of  self-denial,  the  greatness  of 
sacrifice,  the  hardship  of  missionary  life.  Over 
all  the  harsh  outline,  and  the  harsher  filling  in, 
she  threw  the  veil  of  her  playful  fancy,  and 
few  heard  the  mournful  undertone  that  thrilled 
through  the  gay,  sprightly  song.  The  new 
scenes  and  the  softer  air  did  not  have  the  de 
sired  effect,  and  a  short  time  since  she  wrote  to 
a  friend  :  —  'I  have  moved  from  a  small,  quiet 
school  to  a  large,  rollicking,  frolicking,  fun-loving 
one.  I  am  happy ;  I  think  I  ought  to  be. 
Every  one  is  kind.  But  I  am  quite  puzzled, 
I  don't  know  just  what  to  do.  If  I  am  to 
teach  much  longer,  it  would  be  better  for  me 
to  return  to  New  England,  and  go  to  school 


WO  OL-  GA  THE  RING.  1 49 

awhile.  I  have  earned  enough  to  keep  me  at 
school  a  year  or  so,  and  I  do  believe  I  am 
willing  to  exert  myself  to  the  utmost  to  im 
prove.  But,  then,  this  cough  increases.  It 
may  not  be  long  before  it  will  have  an  end.  If 
I  go  to  New  England,  I  may  spend  all  the  life 
left  me  in  acquiring  knowledge,  and  so  lose  the 
opportunity  for  usefulness  that  I  might  have  if 
I  remained  here.  Now  the  question  is,  which 
will  bring  the  largest  pile  of  wood,  —  the  dull 
axe  for  six  hours,  or  the  sharp  one  for  two  ? ' 

It  is  over  now.  Dull  axe  and  sharp  axe  are 
alike  laid  aside,  and  on  the  highlands  of  Min 
nesota  there  is  a  lonely  grave. 

Two  or  three  letters  have  come  into  my  hands, 
which  seem  to  me  to  illustrate  a  character  of 
no  common  strength,  purified  by  no  common 
experience. 

"  I  earnestly  desire  to  write  you  one  more 
letter,  and  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  soon  be  for 
gery  to  sign  myself  A B .  Not  that 

I   meditate    changing   my  name ;   but   I   have    a 

conviction    that  what  you  once  knew   as  A 

B is  gradually  slipping  away,  and  an  entirely 


150  WOOL-GATHERING. 

different  individual  is  ....  assuming  her  name. 
....  I  can  see  that  circumstances  have  made 
me  what  I  would  not  be,  and  that  continued 
living  in  Egypt,  with  its  debasing  influences,  has 
had  its  effect  on  me,  in  spite  of  resistance  on 
my  part.  Once  my  ignorance  of  the  world,  and 
blind  trust  in  it,  was  my  safety.  I  called  black 
white,  and  covered  with  my  charity  a  multitude 
of  sins.  Now,  my  eyes  are  open,  and  is  it  my 
fault  that  I  see  ?  It  is  because  I  see,  and  can 
not  bring  myself  to  the  hypocrisy  of  pretended 
blindness,  that  I  have  feared  to  write  you.  I 
could  not  write  a  cheerful,  happy  letter,  simply 
because  it  would  not  be  true,  and  moreover  I 
knew  that  you  would  detect  the  false  ring  of 
the  metal.  Once  I  wrote  a  real  *  cry-baby  affair,' 
—  a  home-sick,  heart-sick,  self-sick  effusion ;  but 
before  I  found  time  to  finish  it,  I  remembered 
of  reading  somewhere  ....  about  hanging  upon 
other  people's  sympathy  until  they  considered 

you    a   sort    of   mental    clog So    into    the 

fire  went  that  letter.  You  will  never  know 
how  many  letters  I  have  composed  to  you  in 

my   solitary   walks    to   and    from    school I 

feel  a  little  desperate  now,  or  I  should  not  dare 


WOOL-GATHERING.  151 

to  tell  you  that  school-teaching  is  drudgery.  It 
has  been  growing  plainer  and  plainer  to  me,  until 
now  I  am  convinced  of  the  fact.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  for  myself.  You  will  likely  think  I  am 
not  doing  my  duty.  I  have  said  the  same  thing 
to  myself,  and  yet  I  believe  I  was  never  more 
successful  in  school.  People  don't  know  that 
it  is  not  my  joy  and  delight,  and  you  will  not 
tell  them 

"We  never  came  to  an  explanation,  and  at 
last  the  news  came  that  he  was  married  one 
day,  and  went  to  war  the  next.  I  never  heard 
from  him  again 

"  After  the  first  day  of  stupor,  the  second 
of  pain,  and  the  third  of  dull  headache,  I  thrust 
it  out,  and  when  it  came  back  to  me,  at  first 
like  a  knife-thrust,  I  held  my  breath  till  it 
passed ;  then,  later,  when  it  came  like  some  un 
pleasant  remembrance,  I  turned  my  back  upon 
it,  and  now  the  subject  gives  me  very  little 
emotion  of  any  kind.  But  still,  in  the  face  of 
all,  I  know  of  nothing  so  sweet  as  human  love. 
I  am  not  one  bit  afraid  that  you  will  sneer  at 
this.  I  know  you  will  not.  I  am  afraid  I 
should  say  it  again,  if  the  whole  world  cried, 
4  For  shame  ! ' 


152  WOOL-GATHERING. 

"  Let  it  go.  There  is  another  world.  You 

will  want  to  know  about  my  health I  do 

not  know :  I  am  sometimes  sick  and  sometimes 
well.  I  have  had  chills  and  fever  and  night 
sweats  this  summer,  and  still  a  skilful  Doctor 
told  me  the  other  day  that  ....  there  is  no 
need  of  my  dying  of  consumption.  All  I  want 
is  Minnesota.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
home  and  die,  but  I  don't  know  but  it  is  my 
duty  to  make  another  trial I  have  de 
cided  to  go  to  St.  Paul.  I  do  not  know  one 
person  there,  and  yet  I  mean  to  get  a  situation 
as  teacher.  It  requires  all  my  courage  to  take 
this  step." 

The  stepr  was  taken,  the  situation  secured,  but 
health  did  not  come.  Another  date  is:  —  "St. 

Paul,  May  22 Dr. told  me  to-day  that 

no  earthly  power  could  save  me He  told 

me  to  do  what  pleased  me  best,  for  I  had  not 
long  to  live.  I  have  been  keeping  my  courage 
and  my  strength  up,  on  ale  and  oranges,  for  the 
last  month.  I  am  still  in  school.  The  salary 
is  necessary  to  keep  me  going,  and  the  excite 
ment  is  necessary  to  keep  me  awake I 

am  so  tired !  This  climate  of  Minnesota  is  per- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  153 

fectly  charming,  but  Dr. says,  while  it  will 

prolong   my   life,    it   will   not    cure   me If 

I  could  afford  the  expense,  I  would  stay  here 
through  July  and  August,  and  go  to  the  pine 
woods,  and  make  one  more  effort  for  my  life. 
I  would  breathe,  eat,  and  drink  pine,  but  it  would 
cost  a  hundred  dollars.  I  am  so  much  more 
comfortable  since  warm  weather  came  (one  week 
sir>ce)  that  I  almost  disbelieve  the  Doctor,  — 
especially  as  another  one  told  me  yesterday,  that 
there  was  hope  if  I  could  by  any  means  gain 
strength  before  Fall.  This  climate  is  superb. 
....  School  closes  in  five  weeks.  Every  one 
is  kind  to  me,  and  every  one  wants  me  to  get 
well;  but  I  am  ashamed  that  I  can  excite  no 
better  feeling  than  pity  in  the  hearts  of  those  I 

meet.     I  feel  as  I  did  when  Mr. gave  me 

easy  questions  at  school." 

Again  :  —  "  Minneapolis,  October  1.  When 
some  people  are  '  set  on  their  feet '  they  can  keep 
the  balance,  and  you  have  the  satisfaction  of 
saving  a  life  by  one  little  act  of  kindness ;  but 
others  may  be  set  just  as  firmly,  and  just  as  fairly 
started,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  they  are 
down.  You  have  to  turn  and  pick  them  up 
7* 


154  WOOL-GATHERING. 

until  you  are  tired.  I  am  on  my  feet  at  pres 
ent,  and  am  '  wound  up  '  for  the  winter  ;  and 
I  do  hope  that  I  shall  not  tumble,  but  there  is 
no  telling.  You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  I 
am  engaged  ....  in  Minneapolis My  sal 
ary  is  not  determined  yet.  I  think  they  mean 
to  make  it  depend  on  the  work  I  do.  I  have 
been  teaching  one  month,  and  have  gained  in 
health  since  I  began.  So  that  is  encouraging, 
is  it  not?  I  teach  everything  taught  in  school 
but  Latin  and  Greek  and  music.  I  have  the 
care  of  the  school  one  third  of  the  day.  If  I 
were  only  strong  enough  I  could  teach  drawing, 
and  so  help  my  salary.  I  was  so  very  miserable 

last  spring,  I  think  I  came  near  death 

Dr.  Hunter's  Inhalation  ....  was  the  first  thing 
that  seemed  to  help  me.  It  may  possibly  cure 
me.  I  have  gained  strength,  but  no  flesh  —  as 
yet. 

"  But  I  begin  the  winter  with  good  courage, 

and  very  fair  health Dr.  says  he 

believes  I  will  die  if  I  stay  in  Minnesota  this 
winter,  but  I  don't  think  so. 

"  I  don't  read  any.  Saturdays  I  rest.  I  walk 
round  in  this  glorious  air." 


WOOL-GA  TL'ERIKG.  155 

And  still  another  note,  dated  November  23, 
traced  with  a  feeble  pencil :  —  "I  am  just  rising 
from  what  every  one  called  a  bed  of  death.  The 
Doctor  said  I  must  die,  or  rather  would  die,  but 
I  never  believed  it.  They  urged  willingness,  and 
I  was  willing,  but  I  prayed,  If  it  be  thy  will,  let 
me  live.  Five  weeks  have  passed,  and  I  can 
walk,  ride,  and  eat.  I  have  the  lest  of  care, — 
every  whim  gratified.  I  sat  by  an  open  win 
dow  this  morning.  The  air  rivals  June 

I  can't  write  more  now.  I  need  nothing." 

A  few  weeks  longer  she  stayed,  bravely  fight 
ing  for  life,  yet  holding  herself  in  readiness  to 
relinquish  it.  "  I  am  ready  when  God  shall 
call.  It  does  not  trouble  me  to  talk  about 
dying.  If  my  time  is  to-night,  I  am  ready." 
One  longing,  lingering  look  she  had,  through 
the  eyes  of  a  beloved  kinsman,  into  the  dear 
family  circle  from  which  she  had  been  so  long 
and  so  widely  separated,  —  and  then  as  she  had 
lived  in  the  world  so  she  left  it,  with  courage, 
calmness,  and  decision. 

"  By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorned, 
By  strangers  honored,  and  by  strangers  mourned  ! " 


156  WOOL-GATHERING. 

Happy  hearts  will  not  grudge  this  little  record 
from  the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 
I  know  it  is  no  strange  story.  A  young  wo 
man,  unsheltered,  struggling  for  life  and  for  a  liv 
ing,  —  it  is  a  common  form  of  sainthood  in  our 
country.  A  saint?  Hardly.  We  are  rather 
short  of  saints  in  this  busy  community,  and  she 
had  undoubtedly  her  faults.  A  positive  nature 
like  hers  could  hardly  be  without  them,  and 
the  mellow  growth  of  ripened  years  had  not 
softened  them  away.  But  if  there  be  indeed 

some 

"  Bright  reversion  in  the  sky 
For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely  die," 

perhaps  our  tutelar  Saint  Anthony  will  not  be 
the  only  one  to  find  it.  If  it  be  a  saintly  thing 
to  dwell  in  deserts  and  fight  with  devils,  I  think 
she  is  also  not  unsaintly  who,  homeless,  friend 
less,  and  forlorn,  lives  in  society  and  works  for 
humanity,  fighting  all  the  while  the  devils  of 
illness  and  poverty  and  heart-ache  and  sore  soli 
tude,  keeping  throughout  a  good  courage,  a  smil 
ing  face,  and  a  cheery  voice. 

The  sunshine  lies  very  bright  above  her  grave. 
The  city's  voices  do  not  reach  the  silent  sleeper 


WOOL-GA  THERING. 


157 


there.  No  feet  of  love  will  wear  a  pathway  to 
that  distant  spot.  But  in  a  pleasant  land  I  doubt 
not  she  has  found  warm  welcome  home,  and  her 
rest  shall  be  glorious. 


CHAPTER    VI  . 

The  Pursuit  of  Sentiment  under  Difficulties.  —  Lo!  the  poor 
Indian.  —  Hiawatha  rampant.  —  A  Popular  Mistake  cor 
rected.  —  Minnehaha.  —  Shawondasee  and  Steam-Engines.  — 
Emigrants.  —  Milking.  —  Mars  cultivating  the  Drama.  — 
Fort  Snelling.  —  Investigations.  —  Philologues,  embellished 
with  Cuts.  —  A  Glimpse  into  Eden.  —  A  Lake.  —  A  Dam  or 
not  a  Dam.  —  The  Argument.  —  A  Dam  that  may  be  de 
pended  on.  —  A  Dinner  ditto.  —  Valedictory. 


can   travel  in   the  land   of   the 
Dacotahs  and  not  hear 

"  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  him  through  the  silence  "  ? 

We  obey  the  call,  and  wander  on,  yet  not,  like 
Hiawatha, 

"  Through  interminable  forests, 
Through  uninterrupted  silence," 

but  over  well-trodden  roads,  and  past  well-tilled 
farms.  Nor  can  we  wholly  repress  a  sense  of 
sadness,  a  tender  regret  for  what  has  so  utterly 
passed  away.  The  last  place  in  the  world  to  be 
sentimental  over  Indians  is  Minnesota.  In  a 


WOOL-GATHERING.  159 

country  where,  until  lately,  a  woman  might  stand 
frying  doughnuts  at  her  kitchen  fire,  and  look  up 
to  see  a  dark,  dreadful  face  in  the  gathering  twi 
light  pressed  against  the  window-pane,  watching 
the  process,  and  receive  for  her  ostensibly  hos 
pitable,  but  really  affrighted  greeting,  only  a 
non-committal  grunt,  it  is  just  as  well  not  to 
rhapsodize  over  the  noble  savage.  When,  in  ad 
dition  to  this,  the  noble  savage  yells  out  a  war- 
whoop,  whips  out  his  tomahawk,  and  takes  off 
your  scalp,  it  is  all  over  with  the  poetry  of 
the  thing.  But  while  we  may  not  expect  that 
Minnesotians  should  be  affectionate  towards  In 
dians,  I  cannot  help  saying  that  the  seed  of 
every  atrocity  which  they  committed  seems  to 
have  been  planted  by  our  own  white  Chris 
tian  hands.  Their  violence  was  the  result  of 
our  injustice.  The  wrong  which  they  did  to 
us  was  born  of  the  wrong  we  did  to  them. 
Long-continued,  systematic  fraud  bore  bloody 
fruit.  Government  agents  and  traders  robbed 
them  of  their  annuities.  Whiskey  was  carried 
among  them  by  the  agents  of  the  government 
which  forbade  its  introduction.  The  meat  which 
government  furnished  them,  or  paid  for  furnish- 


1 60  WOOL-GA  TREEING. 

ing,  was  delivered  to  them  in  a  loathsome  con 
dition.  Flour  was  so  completely  spoiled,  that, 
when  the  hoops  and  staves  were  knocked  off, 
it  stood  up  like  a  rock,  and  had  to  be  cut  to 
pieces  with  hatchets.  But  why  should  we  go 
into  details  ?  Official  investigation  revealed  a 
sickening  array  of  facts.  By  every  ingenious 
and  infernal  device,  by  menace  and  violence 
when  deceit  alone  was  insufficient,  the  traders 
managed  to  stand  between  the  government  and 
the  Indians,  and  clutch  at  the  larger  portion  of 
what  was  intended  for  the  latter.  They  sought 
redress  in  vain.  Is  it  strange  that  stupid,  igno 
rant,  savage  men,  having  complained  and  ap 
pealed  to  no  purpose,  seeing  themselves  always 
outraged  and  overborne  by  force  or  fraud,  in 
flamed  with  rum  and  rage,  reckless  of  fate  and 
fortified  by  despair,  should  finally  have  taken 
a  rough  justice  into  their  own  brutal  hands  ?  or 
that  such  justice,  so  taken,  should  have  been 
goaded  and  maddened  into  revenge,  and  cruelty, 
and  indiscriminate  slaughter? 

It  may  not  be  possible  for  the  law  to  take  into 
account  the  accumulated  wrongs  which  induced 
the  terrible  outburst  of  savage  wrath.  It  may 


WOOL-GATHERING.  161 

be  that  the  safety  of  the  State  required  strict 
legal  penalty,  regardless  of  moral  desert;  but 
who  can  doubt  that,  t®  the  eye  of  God,  the 
guilt  rested  most  heavily  upon  those  selfish  and 
unprincipled  men  whose  foul  deeds  aroused  the 
Indian  revenge  ?  On  them  rests  the  blood  of 
the  slain.  The  Indians,  it  seems  to  me,  are  to 
be  pitied  more  than  they  are  to  be  blamed.  I 
pitied  them  in  the  very  height  of  their  dia 
bolic  madness,  for  it  could  not  fail  to  be  seen 
that  every  blow  they  struck  at  us  would  recoil 
with  ten-fold  fury  on  themselves.  They  are  but 
a  handful  of  unwashed  ragamuffins,  from  whose 
smoking  ruins  no  ^Eneas  will  ever  come  out  to 
tell  where  Troy  was.  But  Vengeance  belong- 
eth  unto  God,  and  whatever  may  be  our  the 
ology  regarding  future  retribution,  it  is  true  in 
the  present  world  that  the  wages  of  sin  is  death, 
—  and  death  not  only  to  the  guilty  but  the 
guiltless. 

If  this  were  an  affair  of  the  past  alone,  it 
might  not  be  worth  while  to  dwell  on  it ;  but 
recent  developments  show  that  the  same  course 
towards  the  Indians  is  going  on.  Untaught  by 
disaster,  and  with  no  fear  of  God  before  their 


1 62  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

eyes,  wicked  men  are  carrying  out  the  same 
plans  of  fraud  that  brought  about  the  massacres 
of  1862,  and  that  are  still  springing  up  in  wars 
and  rumors  of  wars.  They  care  not  for  the 
rights  of  the  Indians,  nor  the  safety  of  the 
whites,  nor  the  good  name  of  the  government. 
Indifferent  to  everything  but  their  own  pockets, 
short-sighted  and  bad-hearted,  they  are  plunging 
the  State  into  danger  and  the  country  into  dis 
grace. 

Having  said  my  say  about  the  right  and  wrong 
of  it,  I  will  confess  that  the  Song  of  Hiawatha 
overpowers,  with  its  plaintive,  simple  melody,  the 
fierce,  wild  war-whoop  of  these  late  times.  The 
day  itself  is  full  of  tenderness  and  melancholy, 
—  a  still,  yellow,  smoky  day,  warm  with  the 
lingering  loveliness  of  Summer,  yet  breathing 
through  all  its  warmth  a  prophecy  of  departure. 
Such  a  day  as  when  listless,  careless  Shawon- 
dasee,  In  the  drowsy,  dreamy  sunshine,  In  the 
never-ending  Summer,  Sent  the  melons  and  to 
bacco,  And  the  grapes  in  purple  clusters. 

"  From  his  pipe  the  smoke  ascending 
Filled  the  sky  with  haze  and  vapor, 
Filled  the  air  with  dreamy  softness, 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  163 

Gave  a  twinkle  to  the  water, 
Touched  the  rugged  hills  with  smoothness, 
Brought  the  tender  Indian  Summer, 
In  the  Moon  when  nights  are  brightest." 

There !  I  did  not  mean  to  quote  Hiawatha, 
but  who  can  help  it  ?  When  a  poet  walks  before 
you,  how  can  you  choose  but  follow  in  his  foot 
steps  ?  Few  enough  are  the  scenes  in  this  young 
land  of  ours  that  have  received  such  consecra 
tion;  but  when  you  do  come  upon  them,  you 
are  instantly  aware  of  another  spirit  in  the  air. 
The  woods  and  fields  no  longer  speak  their  own 
words,  but  are  vocal  with  song  and  ballad  and 
legend.  It  is  long  enough  since  I  read  Hiawa 
tha,  and  yet  —  so  strong  is  the  spell  of  genius 
—  no  sooner  do  I  stand  among  his  haunts  than 
the  air  is  full  of  the  noiseless  din  of  vanished 
generations,  and  every  bush  and  brake  and  tree 
quivers  with  that  legendary  life.  The  present  is 
as  if  it  were  not.  Progress  and  improvement 
and  the  lumber-trade  and  free  schools,  —  they 
are  undreamed  of  as  yet,  but  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest  forth  fares  Hiawatha,  with  his  moc- 
casons  of  magic  and  the  deer  across  his  shoulder. 
Yonder  in  the  sunshine  at  the  doorway  of  his 


164  WOOL-GA  THERISG. 

wigwam  sits  the  ancient  arrow-maker,  making 
arrow-heads  of  jasper,  arrow-heads  of  chalce 
dony,  arrow-heads  of  flint  and  jasper,  smoothed 
and  sharpened  at  the  edges,  hard  and  polished, 
keen  and  costly;  and  the  bright  gleam  yonder 
is  no  sunshine  on  the  maple-bough,  but  the  ar 
row-maker's  dark-eyed  daughter,  with  her  moods 
of  shade  and  sunshine,  feet  as  rapid  as  the  river, 
tresses  flowing  like  the  water.  We  see  her  face 
peeping  from  behind  the  curtain  of  the  wigwam 
to  see  the  brave  young  warrior,  swift  of  foot 
and  strong  of  arm,  — 

"  Hear  the  rustling  of  her  garments 
From  behind  the  waring  curtain, 
As  one  sees  the  MInnehaha 
Gleaming,  glancin^r  through  the  branches 
As  one  hears  the  Laughing  Water 
From  behind  its  screen  of  branches." 

There  it  is  again,  you  see !  Hiawatha !  Hia 
watha  !  But  it  does  not  come  to  you  as  quota 
tion,  foreign-born  poetry.  You  see  it.  You 
feel  it.  It  is  your  own  thought.  The  breeze 
sings  it,  the  waters  murmur  it.  The  whole  air 
is  vital  with  it.  I  did  not  quote  Hiawatha.  I 
wrote  it  myself!  — 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  1 65 

So,  in  good  ghostly  company,  we  dream  on. 
Scuds  across  the  road  an  unpretending  little 
brook,  that  looks  as  if  bent  on  some  merry 
frolic  with  never  a  thought  of  fame ;  but  that 
little  brook  in  five  seconds  is  going  to  be  the 
renowned  Falls  of  Minnehaha,  and  it  knows  it, 
and  that  is  why  it  hurries  away  so  unceremoni 
ously.  We  do  not  know  it,  and  jog  along  leis 
urely,  then  turn  aside  into  a  grove,  loose  our 
tired  horses,  and  loiter  down  a  wood-path,  tak 
ing  in  all  the  sweetness  of  the  woods  as  we  go, 
and  well  content  to  loiter.  Suddenly,  almost 
without  warning,  almost  like  a  discovery  of  your 
own,  there  it  is,  —  Minnehaha,  —  the  very  fairy 
of  waterfalls,  —  a  dainty,  delicate  little  maid, 
dancing  over  the  rocks  with  exquisite  winsome 
grace.  Perfect  is  the  word  that  rises  to  your 
lips.  The  gem  has  no  flaw. 

It  is  surprising  how  little  material  Nature  needs 
when  she  has  a  mind  for  feats.  The  waterfall  is 
the  fell  of  a  brook.  It  is  but  a  flickering,  wa 
vering  gossamer  veil,  through  which  you  can  dis 
cern  the  brown  rock  behind.  It  is  not  water, 
but  foam,  —  an  airy,  tricksy  sprite  of  the  skies 
toying  with  the  clods  of  the  valley, — mocking 


166  WO  OL-GA  THERING. 

the  old  cold  cliff  that  vainly  seeks  to  clasp  her  in 
his  rough,  dripping  wet  arms.  The  rock  over 
which  the  rivulet  falls  is  carved  into  a  hollow, 
regular  semicircle.  It  does  not  fall,  it  springs 
over  from  very  light-heartedness.  It  just  gives 
a  little  gleeful  laugh,  —  there  is  a  flash,  a  spar 
kle, —  and  away  it  goes!  Why,  it  is  precisely 
as  I  said  when  I  wrote  Hiawatha,  and  told  you 
that  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 

"  Flash  and  gleam  among  the  oak-trees, 
Laugh  and  leap  into  the  valley." 

I  could  not  give  a  better  description  if  I  should 
try  again.  But  the  frolicking  Undine  is  a  mis 
chievous  maiden,  and,  for  all  her  daintiness,  will 
not  hesitate  to  give  you  a  smart  rap  if  you 
venture  upon  familiarities.  I  have  a  mind  to 
try  the  tempting  shadows  where  her  white  feet 
rest.  I  pick  my  way  slowly  down  the  rugged 
steep  bank,  press  up  close  to  her  secret  haunts, 
and,  presto !  the  Laughing  Water  is  changed  into 
a  shrew  and  a  scold,  and  gives  me  such  a  swift, 
sudden  box  on  the  ear,  as  fairly  takes  my  breath 
away.  The  spray  beats,  and  the  wind  raves; 
it  is  like  a  violent  northeast  rain-storm.  I  am 
drenched  in  a  moment,  and  can  hardly  believe 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  1 67 

that  the  mild  sun  is  shining  overhead.  The 
rock  projects  so  much  that  you  can  very  easily 
walk  behind  the  falls,  midway  between  their 
top  and  the  river,  under  a  flat,  smooth  roof, 
quite  across  to  the  other  side ;  but  I  do  not 
know  that  the  view  is  at  all  improved  by  so  do 
ing, —  especially  as  there  is  no  danger  in  it,  for 
the  brook  is  so  shallow  one  could  hardly  drown 
if  he  should  fall  in,  though  I  imagine  he  might 
be  somewhat  muddled  for  a  time.  Then  the 
happy  river  trips  away  through  its  deep,  shad 
owy  gorge,  as  gayly  and  as  unconcerned  as  if 
it  had  not  just  made  the  most  beautiful,  the 
most  delicate,  the  most  satisfying  little  spectacle 
in  the  world. 

Close  beside  the  wilful,  graceful  Laughing  Wa 
ter,  straight  through  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 
graceless,  remorseless,  runs  a  railroad,  and  every 
melancholy,  frustrate  ghost  will  fly  in  his  mile- 
measuring  moccasons  from  the  snort  and  shriek 
of  the  shrill-voiced  locomotive.  Shawondasee, 
fat  and  lazy,  will  sit  and  gaze  at  the  fierce- 
puffing  smoke-pipe  longer  than  he  did  at  the 
maid  with  yellow  tresses,  but  this  will  not  end 
in  smoke  like  the  maiden.  You,  wretched  Sha- 


168  WOOL-GATHERING. 

wondasee,  will  be  the  one  this  time  to  turn 
into  a  dandelion,  and  be  puffed  away  forever, 
pipe  and  all,  by  this  iron-hearted  rival.  Alas, 
poor  Yorick ! 

Midway  between  the  white  man's  steam-car 
and  the  Indian's  dog-trot  come  the  lumbering 
emigrant  wagons,  white-topped  and  bulky,  drawn 
by  oxen,  and  overflowing  with  goods  and  chat 
tels  and  children.  Tables  are  slung  on  behind, 
kettles  swing  underneath,  and  occasionally  we 
see  them  unlimbering  and  preparing  a  meal  by 
the  roadside,  within  sound  of  Minnehaha,  and 
under  the  shadow  of  her  groves.  Weary-look 
ing,  hard-working  men  and  women  and  children, 
—  all  children  of  toil,  —  Heaven  send  rest  to 
their  tired  feet ! 

We  halt  our  caravansary  too,  when  the  mood 
takes  us,  or  when  some  solitary  farm-house  prom 
ises  well,  and  send  out  a  foraging  party.  It  gen 
erally  returns  overflowing  with  milk,  not  to  say 
honey.  Bread  and  cheese,  bowls,  dippers,  tum 
blers,  spoons,  we  furnish  from  our  own  camp- 
chest,  and  under  the  brilliant  canopy  of  autumn 
trees  lunch  gloriously  off  nectar  and  ambrosia. 
If  we  were  criminals  fleeing  from  justice,  any 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  1 69 

competent  detective  could  follow  us  by  our  foot 
prints  traced  in  milk.  Sometimes  a  boy  whistles 
up,  stops  suddenly,  stares  a  moment,  and  goes 
on.  Sometimes  an  overgrown  pig  —  well,  not  to 
put  too  fine  a  point  on  it,  a  hog  —  roots  his  way 
out  of  the  woods,  comes  grunting  up  to  our  ren 
dezvous,  and  is  speedily  put  to  ungainly  flight. 
Occasionally  a  horseman,  or  a  squad  of  them,  ride 
by  in  soldiers'  garb ;  but  they  are  on  pleasure  bent 
and  peace,  for  they  fling  us  handbills,  announ 
cing  a  theatrical  entertainment  at  Fort  Snelling. 
Entertainment !  Well,  there  is  no  accounting 
for  tastes.  Perhaps,  if  we  should  summer  it 
and  winter  it  at  Fort  Snelling,  we  too  should 
be  reduced  to  hanging  up  a  curtain,  setting  out 
a  row  of  candles  on  the  floor,  and  strutting 
our  little  hour  upon  the  stage,  or  before  it,  for 
entertainment ;  but  in  the  midst  of  the  length 
ened  sweetness  long  drawn  out  of  these  golden, 
hazy  holidays,  I  am  ready  to  adopt  Sir  Corne- 
wall  Lewis's  opinion,  that  this  world  would  be 
a  very  tolerable  place  but  for  its  amusements. 
No,  my  solli  jr-friend,  ride  on  triumphantly  in 
your  brave  blue  coat.  I  will  follow  you  to  Fort 
Snelling,  but  not  to  any  counterfeit  present- 
8 


170  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

ment,  —  Fort  Snelling,  the  ancient  outpost  of 
civilization,  set  for  a  defence  of  pioneer  against 
Indian.  It  has  been  the  scene  of  warfare  and 
a  place  of  doom.  Now,  it  is  full  of  peace  and 
grass  and  sunshine,  a  corner  lot  worth  having 
indeed,  for  the  Mississippi  comes  down  on  one 
side  and  the  Minnesota  on  the  other,  and  be 
tween  them,  just  at  the  angle  where  they  meet, 
stands  the  fort,  deep  in  the  heart  of  all  this 
boundless  glory  of  wood  and  water.  The  site 
is  a  headland,  —  if  that  is  a  correct  use  of  the 
word,  and  if  not,  so  much  the  worse  for  the 
word.  Any  definition  of  headland  that  excludes 
Fort  Snelling  is  defective.  What  I  mean  is, 
that  the  country  behind  it,  leading  up  to  it,  is 
an  extensive  plateau,  narrowing  to  a  point  at  tho 
junction  of  the  two  rivers,  and  the  fort  is  just 
on  this  jumping-off  place.  The  jump  into  either 
of  the  rivers  would  be  a  hundred  feet,  and  from 
a  tower  built  up  at  the  outmost  point  the  view 
is  magnificent  indeed.  The  face  of  the  bluffs 
that  come  in  from  the  right  looks  as  if  chiselled 
into  a  procession  of  women  in  all  the  rotundity 
of  crinoline  and  rich  fur  mantles.  I  do  not 
mention  this  as  an  item  of  the  magnificence  pre- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  171 

cisely,  but  that  is  what  it  looks  like.  Half-way 
down  the  Mississippi  bank  there  is  a  shelf,  and 
on  that  shelf  there  is  a  railroad,  and  on  that 
railroad  a  train  comes  creeping  along  in  and  out, 
slavishly  following  the  river's  capricious  lead. 
Another  railroad  comes  in  from  the  right,  about  a 
mile  away,  to  meet  it,  and  while  we  are  looking  a 
train  moves  up  on  this  branch  road,  discharges  its 
passengers,  and  then  backs  down  ignominiously. 
The  passengers  stand  there,  little  black  vertical 
bugs,  stirring  uneasily  against  the  light  clay  back 
ground  ;  or  perhaps  it  is  the  same  beautiful  white 
sandstone  that  lies  in  banks  at  our  feet,  —  so  soft 
that  we  can  easily  chip  and  pulverize  it,  but 
cannot  easily  carry  it  away  in  any  form  but 
sand.  And  now  the  main  train  puffs  into  view 
again,  crawls  on  towards  the  little  black  bugs, 
and  swallows  them  all  up.  Then  it  steams 
ahead,  slowly  feeling  its  way  over  the  long  bridge 
across  the  river,  —  yes,  let  me  give  it  that  credit. 
Reckless  as  our  Western  friends  generally  seem, 
that  train  did  look  a  long  while  before  it  leaped. 
Now  it  curves  and  curves  and  curves  cautiously 
across  the  river  towards  us,  and  now  it  roars 
around  the  point,  close  at  the  foot  of  the  tower 


172  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

where  we  stand,  so  that,  leaning  over  the  bal 
ustrade,  we  can  look  straight  down  the  throat 
of  the  smoke-stack,  and  now  it  rumbles  out  of 
sight,  and  at  length  out  of  sound,  going  down 
to  St.  Paul;  or  perhaps  it  has  just  come  from 
St.  Paul,  for  the  river  hereabouts  seems  not  to 
know  its  own  mind,  and  whirls  about  in  such 
a  puzzle  where  to  go,  that  one  can  hardly  tell 
which  is  up  and  which  is  down ;  but  I  remem 
ber  seeing  a  railroad  laid  on  the  shelf  at  St. 
Paul,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  this,  and  I 
infer  that  they  are  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole. 
So  we  are  left  again  to  the  undisturbed  beauty 
of  the  river,  here  calm  and  clear,  picturing  in  its 
liquid  depths  the  tranquil  sky,  the  floating  cloud, 
the  vivid  forests,  the  numberless  shadows  of  the 
shore,  yonder  rapid,  rushing,  tumultuous,  but  al 
ways  so  living,  so  wondrous  fair,  that  the  eye  is 
never  satisfied  with  seeing.  Heaven  be  thanked, 
this  loveliness  does  not  vanish  away  when  the 
feet  turn  aside.  In  the  galleries  of  memory 
they  hang,  the  rare,  glowing,  glorious  pictures, 
perfect  as  nature,  changeless  as  art.  The  shut 
eye  sees  them,  the  rapt  heart  knowTs  them,  — - « 
things  of  beauty  and  joy  forever. 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING,  173 

It  is  not  only  a  river  and  a  prairie  country 
hereabouts,  but  a  lake  country.  Lake  Calhoun, 
Harriet,  Spring  Lake,  Minnetonka,  —  we  shall 
have  to  draw  lots  to  see  where  to  go.  Let  us 
lounge  quietly  on,  and  perhaps  something  will 
turn  up.  Possibly  we  may  catch  the  listless, 
careless  Shawondasee  in  the  very  act  of  giving 
a  twinkle  to  the  water.  Wherever  we  see  a 
gleam  of  blue  we  will  go  and  look  at  it.  Here 
comes  a  stalwart  man  driving  his  double  team. 
He  looks  as  if  he  knew  on  which  side  his  bread 
is  buttered,  syid  that  team  besides  is  a  guaranty 
of  sense.  So  we  stop  to  exchange  friendly 
greetings,  and  fall  into  friendly  chat.  It  is  a 
fine  farming  country  about  here,  he  says.  There 
ain't  no  better. 

There  are  lakes  scattered  among  the  farms  too, 
here  and  there  ? 

Lakes  enough  anywhere,  if  you  want  to  see 
lakes. 

Which  is  the  best  worth  seeing?  How  is  Lake 
Calhoun,  for  instance  ? 

Can't  be  beat!  Lake  Harriet  and  Lake  Cal 
houn  are  close  together.  He  came  by  'em  this 
morning.  Good  road  all  the  way. 


174  WOOL-GA  TI1ERING. 

We  have  heard  of  there  being  a  beaver  dam 
somewhere. 

'S  one  at  Lake  Calhoun.  Two  or  three  more 
he  knows  of,  but  Lake  Calhoun 's  got  a  good  one. 

How  much  of  a  dam  is  it  ?  Enough  to  see,  if 
you  had  never  heard  of  it? 

O  Lor,  yes !  Shoulder  high.  'S  good  a  dam 
as  ever  you  see. 

Fine  weather  we  are  having  this  fall. 

Fust  rate  fer  bein'  on  the  road.  An'  we  shall 
get  more  of  it.  Always  have  three  or  four  weeks 
of  this  smoky  Indian  weather. 

Do  you  ever  have  any  trouble  in  finding  lodg 
ing  when  you  are  travelling  across  the  country? 

Not  much.  No.  I  stopped  with  a  man  last 
night  down  in  A.  The  man  was  at  home,  but 
his  wife  had  gone  away  to  her  mother's.  He 
put  me  up  though.  She  came  home  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  drunk.  He  was  mad 
enough.  Did  n't  want  her  to  come  into  the 
house.  He  knocked  her  out  of  the  wagon  and 
blackened  her  eye,  but  he  let  her  come  in.  I 
don't  like  to  see  a  woman  used  that  way  if  she 
is  drunk,  an'  I  scooted  for  B.  to  get  breakfast. 

Did  you  get  anything  to  eat  ? 


WO  OL-GA  THERING.  175 

Yes,  sour  milk  and  Graham  bread.  'S  good 
as  I  get  to  home.  Better. 

Could  n't  you  get  tea  or  coffee  ? 

None  goin'  !  But  I  did  n't  care  much  what  I 
had  to  drink  :  only  wanted  something  wet. 

"Scooted."  I  wonder  where  or  what  that 
word  came  from.  It  is  easy  to  see  what  it  means, 
but  was  it  made  up  out  of  whole  cloth  or  is  it 
some  other  word  in  frontier  dress  ?  *  That 
phrase  "  whole  cloth  "  speaks  plainly  of  the  tai 
lor's  shop,  but  —  scooted?  Another  strange  thing 
I  saw,  an  advertisement  pasted  up  in  St.  An 
thony  :  — 

"  CREAM  CANDY  CURES  COUGH,  SURE  POP." 
To  what  known  tongue  does  that  belong,  or  is  it 
the  native  St.  Anthonese  dialect  ? 

They  tell  a  story,  —  I  dare  say  it  may  be  a  part 
of  the  regular  stock  in  trade,  like  the  steamers 
that  run  in  a  heavy  dew,  or  raise  a  cloud  of 
dust,  or  are  got  off  when  they  are  aground 
by  borrowing  a  pitcher  of  water  from  a  farm 
house  and  pouring  it  on  the  sand,  —  but  it  was 
new  to  me,  -»-  illustrating  the  peculiar  use  of 

*  I  am  told  that  the  word  "  scoot "  is  quite  common  in  New 
England,  and  means  about  the  same  as  "  skedaddle." 


176  WOOL-GATHEPJNO. 

words.  A  pioneer  of  some  sort  is  roused  at 
midnight  by  an  unwonted  noise.  At  the  high 
window  of  his  cabin  he  sees  the  head  of  a  man 
just  ready  to  climb  in.  He  presents  his  pistol 
to  the  man's  face  with  the  brief  remark,  "  You 
get!"  The  burglar  looks  in  his  eyes  a  second 
and  replies,  "  You  bet !  "  then  takes  to  his  heels, 
and  the  settler  goes  back  to  bed.  If  Laconia 
has  anything  more  concise  than  that,  let  her 
bring  it  on.  Another  phrase  amused  me,  though 
I  believe  it  is  not  peculiar  to  the  West.  A  man 
who  had  been  to  see  one  of  our  famous  generals 
was  asked  what  he  thought  of  him.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "I  walked  all  around  him  and  gawked 
at  him,  and  I  did  n't  see 's  there  was  much  in 
him ! "  Is  not  there  a  picture  for  your  mind's 
eye,  Horatio  ?  Full  of  meaning,  full  of  charac 
ter  too  ? 

Lake  Calhoun  be  it  then  and  the  beaver  dam, 
but  we  must  go  back  to  town  and  take  a  fresh 
start.  Meanwhile  some  mischance  happens  to  our 
harness,  and  we  repair  to  a  gunsmith's  to  mend 
it.  He  is  not  at  home,  but  his  wife  receives 
us  hospitably.  They  are  Germans.  It  is  a  gem 
of  a  place,  and  would  work  into  a  novel  finely. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  177 

The  outside  door  opens  into  the  front  room, 
which  is  the  gunnery,  —  if  that  is  the  name 
of  it.  Guns,  pistols,  and  a  great  variety  of  tools 
stand  around  or  hang  against  the  walls,  but  in 
perfect  order.  A  door  directly  in  line  with  the 
front  door  leads  into  another  room  of  the  same 
size.  Two  plump,  dainty  white  beds  take  up 
pretty  much  all  the  space  on  each  side  of  the  door, 
leaving  a  passage-way  between  to  the  next  room, 
which  is  the  sitting  or  work  room.  Both  these 
apartments  are  well  carpeted  with  ingeniously 
made  mats,  and  adorned  with  prints,  —  brilliant 
butterflies  nicely  grouped  and  glassed  and  framed, 
and  many  little  tasteful  specimens  of  feminine 
handicraft.  It  is  a  mere  box  of  a  house,  but 
brimful  of  comfort  and  neatness  and  loving  care. 
The  good  mistress,  an  attractive  little  woman, 
takes  a  modest  pride  in  exhibiting  her  pretty 
things,  and  we  take  an  honest  delight  in  look 
ing  at  them.  The  master  presently  returns,  as 
neat  and  smiling  as  one  would  expect  from  such 
surroundings.  They  must  be  two  happy  people. 
They  look  as  if  they  like  the  same  things,  and 
I  think  of  them  living  there  like  two  bees  in 
a  honeysuckle,  —  foreign  bees,  alas !  for  our 
8*  L 


178  WOOL-GATHERING. 

American  bees  seem  never  able  to  compass  this 
snug  comfort  and  content. 

We  are  soon  set  to  rights  and  come  out  of 
the  honeysuckle,  mutually  pleased  I  trust,  but 
I  can  only  vouch  for  my  side  of  the  house. 
And  then  we  discover  Lake  Calhoun  to  be  a 
bright  little  beauty  sparkling  among  the  hills, 
well  skirted  with  oak-trees,  and  describing  ap 
parently  a  perfect  circle.  At  least  the  verge 
along  which  we  drive  sweeps  in  an  unbroken 
and  most  beautiful  shore  line.  The  road  bor 
ders  on  the  lake  among  a  grove,  or  belt  of 
oaks ;  and  sometimes  we  take  the  road,  and 
sometimes  the  lake,  with  its  smooth,  hard,  pebbly 
beach.  But  where  and  O  where  is  your  famous 
beaver  dam  ?  Why,  here,  this  very  road  we 
are  driving  over  is  the  beaver  dam.  I  do  not 
believe  it.  In  the  first  place  it  is  not  a  dam, 
and  in  the  second  place  it  is  not  a  beaver  dam. 
If  it  is  a  dam  it  must  dam  something.  What 
does  it  dam  ?  Dams  the  lake.  Don't  you  see 
the  water  over  the  other  side  ?  Once  it  was 
all  one  sheet ;  till  the  beavers  came  and  shut 
up  one  end  with  their  dam.  Well,  if  this  is 
a  beaver  dam,  we  need  not  have  come  fifteen 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  179 

hundred  miles  to  look  at  it.  For  aught  that 
appears  to  the  contrary,  we  may  have  been 
driving  over  beaver  dams  all  our  lives.  The 
"  long  causey "  at  home  might  just  as  well 
hunt  out  its  ancestry  and  set  up  for  a  curios 
ity.  I  counted  on  seeing  the  beavers  cutting 
down  trees,  and  weaving  in  the  grass,  and  trow 
elling  down  the  mud  with  their  tails,  and  here 
is  nothing  but  a  beaten  road,  a  little  higher 
than  the  lake,  with  trees  growing  out  of  it, 
and  everything  looking  staid,  conservative,  and 
human,  no  more  as  if  it  were  built  by  beavers 
than  the  frog-pond  on  Boston  Common  looks 
as  if  it  were  made  by  frogs.  But  we  are  not 
come  all  this  way  to  see  a  beaver  dam  for  noth 
ing,  —  wherefore 

Lake  Calhoun  is  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water, 
not  far  from  St.  Paul  in  Minnesota.  It  is  dis 
tinguished  for  a  large  and  otherwise  remark 
able  beaver  dam,  shoulder-high,  be  the  same 
more  or  less,  and  however  otherwise  bounded. 
This  dam  is  as  broad  as  a  road,  and  on  the  side 
farthest  from  the  lake  a  good  deal  broader.  In 
fact  it  seems  to  have  no  limitation  in  that  quar 
ter,  but  subsides  gradually  into  an  amphibious 


180  WOOL-GATHERING. 

meadow,  winch  would  become  a  lake  on  very 
slight  provocation.  The  dam  is  composed  of 
sticks  and  stones,  and  the  trunks  of  trees,  some 
of  which  are  still  sticking  out  with  the  leaves 
on  them.  These  are  about  ten  thousand  years 
old,  and  yet  growing.  For  the  most  part,  how 
ever,  the  dam  is  well  -plastered  with  mud,  after 
which  operation  the  beavers  hauled  on  large 
quantities  of  alluvium,  sifted  clouds  of  dust  into 
the  chinks,  and  sowed  the  whole  with  hay-seed 
imported  from  Massachusetts.  Since  beavers 
work  only  in  the  night,  we  were  not  able  to 
watch  them  at  their  labors,  which  are  now 
over,  as  the  dam  is  finished  according  to  con 
tract,  and  has  been  delivered  and  accepted ; 
but  we  saw  several  beaver  hats  which  had  been 
left  out  over  night  by  the  workmen,  and  were 
still  in  good  repair. 

There  is  a  leaf  out  of  a  book  of  travels  for 
you ! 

Then  we  go  to  dinner. 

Dinner  consists  of  oysters,  —  certainly.  Min 
nesota  has  such  a  fascinating  wray  with  her,  that 
the  very  oysters  in  Baltimore  Bay  cry  tenderly 
across  the  country,  "  O  whistle,  and  I  '11  come 


WOOL-GATHERING.  181 

to  you,  my  lad!"  You  can  hear  them  on  a 
still  day  by  placing  a  shell  close  to  your  ear, 
or,  in  lack  of  an  oyster-shell,  by  reading  almost 
any  specimen  of  marine  poetry.  And  come  they 
do  by  the  can-full,  with  the  dew  of  the  morning 
still  fresh  on  their  youthful  brows,  —  oysters, 
roast  beef,  bread  and  butter,  custard  pudding, 
apple-pie,  and  squash-pie,  peaches  and  cream, 
and  cake  and  apples.  I  tell  you,  lest  you  might 
suppose  from  the  milky  way  we  have  hitherto 
followed  that  we  have  nothing  to  eat  in  Min 
nesota  but  bread  and  milk.  Our  dining-room 
is  a  fine  wooded  park,  a  hill  oak-crowned  and 
oak-coated,  sloping  down  to  the  incomparable 
lake.  Straggling  wood-paths  tempt  us  on  to 
sunny  nooks,  and  one  rude  cart-track  strays  up 
to  a  sign-board,  which  tells  -us  that  it  is  to 

"!KA  CITY,  8  MILES." 

Happy  Ika  City,  if  such  a  sylvan  road  as  this 
leads  to  it  all  the  way ! 

And  still  the  leaves  flutter  above  our  heads, 
and  still  the  lake  sparkles  before  us,  —  and  the 
soul  of  sunshine  settles  into  our  own  souls  too, 
till  through  the  radiant  air  comes  a  voice,  — 


182  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

"  Scarcely  can  the  ear  distinguish 
Whether  it  be  sung  or  spoken." 

"  Ye  shall  go  out  with  joy,  and  be  led  forth 
with  peace :  the  mountains  and  the  hills  shall 
break  forth  before  you  into  singing,  and  all  the 
trees  of  the  field  shall  clap  their  hands." 

But  we  must  leave  thee,  Paradise.  Good  by, 
Minnesota,  fair  land  of  lake  and  prairie,  of  pleas 
ant  wood  and  rolling  water.  I  suppose  you 
are  green  in 'summer  and  white  in  winter,  like 
the  rest  of  us.  I  suppose  the  sky  sometimes 
looks  gray  and  sullen,  and  the  wind  howls  as 
savagely  as  elsewhere.  Into  your  life  some  rain 
must  fall,  some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 
But  to  my  thought  you  are  always  robed  in 
rainbow  hues,  and  steeped  in  the  sunshine  of 
an  eternal  Indian  summer.  Old  fort,  young 
city,  and  solitary  grave,  farewell.  Farewell,  sad 
shades  of  unremembered  braves,  tribes,  and  peo 
ples,  a  voiceless  crowd,  innumerable,  farewell. 
And  you  too,  little  Undine,  Laughing  Water,  is 
there  no  note  of  sadness  in  all  your  singing? 
O  men  may  come  and  men  may  go,  but  you 
go  on  forever.  Red-skin  or  pale-face  it  is  all 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  183 

one  to  you,  and  if  no  face  at  all  leans  over 
you,  still  sunny-hearted  you  dance  on  to  bee 
and  bird  and  bending  sky  and  listening  wood, 
yes,  and  your  own  sweet  will.  Laugh  en,  danco 
on,  Minnehaha  ! 

"  A  hundred  suns  shall  stream  on  thee, 

A  thousand  moons  shall  quiver ; 
But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be 
For  ever  and  for  ever." 


, 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Yarrow    revisited.  —  A   Display  of  Philological  Erudition.  — 
Egyptian    Society.  —  On    the    Ohio.  —  Temptation    resisted. 

—  Piloting.  —  Reliable  History  of  the  Invention  of  Steam. 

—  The  Lost  Found.  —  Visit   to   Mammoth   Cave.  —  Battle 
Phantoms.  —  The  Dethroned  Monarch.  —  Nashville.  —  Chit 
chat.  —  Across    Country.  —  Stone   River.  —  Clay-eaters.  —  A 
Sign-board.  — Train  off  the  Track  potentially.  —  Vagaries  of 
the  Country.  —  Lookout. 

OWN",  down  again,  borrowing  the 
moccasons  of  magic,  —  one  step  across 
Wisconsin,  and  one  more  to  Illinois, 
and  —  there  is  sunshine  even  in  Chicago,  and 
hard  pavements,  and  I  have  a  glimpse  of  stately 
houses,  and  I  believe  I  detect  vines,  and  lattice 
work,  and  certainly  a  flash  of  bright  blue  wa 
ter.  Brava !  Chicago.  Possibly,  after  all,  with 
a  cloudless  day  and  enough  of  them,  like  young 
Abijah,  I  might  see  some  good  thing  may  be 
found  in  thee.  Down  and  down  through  end 
less  forests,  through  overgrown  corn-fields  that 


WOOL-GA  THERIXG.  135 

seem  to  have  forgotten  they  are  corn-fields,  and 
to  imagine  they  have  kept  their  first  estate  as 
prairies,  and  stretch  and  swell  accordingly ;  great, 
fertile  —  fields  you  can  hardly  call  them  —  tracts 
perhaps,  or  counties.  Really  Indiana  and  Illi 
nois  mean  to  show  cause  for  their  existence.  I 
wonder  how  life  goes  on  these  fat  lands.  Do 
rich  soils  give  rich  souls  ? 

"  Everything  goes  lovely  and  the  goose  hangs 
high,"  says  my  friend,  who  has  travelled  often 
in  this  as  in  all  directions,  and  knows  much. 
But  what  he  knows  is  chiefly  social  and  histori 
cal  lore.  It  is  I  who  prosecute  philological  re 
searches,  and  I  will  now  inform  the  learned  and 
inquisitive  reader  of  the  origin  of  that  occult 
line,  which,  I  believe,  has  hitherto  baffled  inves 
tigation.  It  comes  from  the  South,  where  the 
wild  geese  fly  low  in  dull  weather,  and  high 
in  fair,  clear  days.  Hangs  is  a  false  word,  — 
a  Northern  corruption  of  the  negro  dialect  yang, 
—  an  onomatopoeian  word,  representing  the  "  far 
heard  clang "  of  the  wild  goose.  So  in  literal 
fine  weather,  or  in  that  state  of  prosperity  which 
may  be  typified  by  it,  we  say,  "  Everything  goes 
lovely  and  the  goose  yang's  high."  I  shall  beg 


186  WOOL-GATHERING. 

to  send  in  my  name   as   a   candidate   for   mem 
bership    of   the    Corresponding    Society   of   the 
Pickwick   Club. 

"  But  —  Egypt,  —  does  not  Egypt  lie  here 
about?" 

"  O  no !  Egypt  is  over  yonder.  Southern 
Illinois." 

"  How  came  it  to  be  called  Egypt  in  the  first 
place  ?  It  is  a  nickname,  I  suppose." 

"  From  the  Egyptian  darkness  that  enshrouds 
it,  doubtless.  The  popular  notion  in  Egypt  is 
that  c  Grammar  talk '  is  exclusively  for  the  use 
of  people  who  put  on  airs  and  wear  '  store 
close.'" 

"  I  suppose"  putting  on  '  store  close '  there  is 
counted  all  one  with  putting  on  airs." 

"  Exactly.      A  short  time  ago  a  man   buried 

his  wife  in  C County.      The  mother  of  the 

friend  with  whom  I  was  stopping  went  to  their 
house  to  assist  them,  and  suggested  to  the  be 
reaved  widower  that  a  clean  shirt  was  a  proper 
preparation  for  the  solemnities  of  the  occasion. 
4  What ! '  said  the  members  of  the  family,  '  put 
on  airs  at  a  funeral !  Why,  if  the  ole  man  gits 
on  a  clean  shart,  he  won't  come  home  fur  a 


WOOL-GATHERING.  187 

week.'  And  the  shart  was  not  put  on.  One 
old  lady  said  she  would  not  like  to  be  buried 
in  such  a  way.  *  Hi,  ole  'oman,'  said  the  man, 
'  you  may  be  glad  if  you  get  buried  at  all !  ' 

"  The  attendants  do  not  follow  the  body  deco 
rously  ;  they  go  before,  behind,  and  at  the  side, 
without  any  attempt  at  order.  Praying  at  the 
grave  is  also  held  to  be  putting  on  airs.  This, 
however,  is  only  a  modification  of  the  silly 
sentimentality  which  prompted  George  Arnold 
to  request  or  direct  that  there  be  no  singing 
or  praying  at  his  grave  or  over  his  remains. 
George  must  have  had  a  keen  sense  of  the 
worthlessness  of  his  poor  clay." 

"  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum." 

"  '  When  scoundrels  die,  let  all  bemoan  'em.' 
Not  that  George  was  a  scoundrel,  —  only  a 
wishy-washy  poet,  and  when  a  wishy-washy 
poet  makes  such  a  request,  it  is  well  enough 
to  blunt  his  arrows  by  telling  the  world  that 
he  is  wishy-washy,  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

"  ^gypt  'ls  the  stronghold  of  Democracy,  is  it 
not  ?  " 

"  Naturally.  There  is  a  clear  affinity  between 
dirt  and  ignorance  and  Democracy.  It  is  hero 


188  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

that  Democracy  finds  in  all  its  tribulations  an 
unfailing  source  of  consolation.  The  dirtier  a 

o 

man  is,  the  greater  his  popularity.  It  is  a  sign 
that  he  is  n't  '  stuck  up.'  To  be  dirty  is  the 
prevailing  taste." 

"  I  should  think  they  were  much  like  the 
*  poor  whites '  of  the  South." 

"  They  are  the  poor  whites  of  the  South  come 
so  far  North.  They  have  the  true  poor  white 
contempt  for  niggers  and  New-Englanders  ;  the 
latter  being  held,  if  anything,  somewhat  infe 
rior  to  the  former.  You  can  judge  how  well 
grounded  is  this  sentiment  of  contempt.  One 
of  the  families  I  know  of  '  pails  the  cow,'  wa 
ters  the  *  hoss,'  and  washes  the  family  linen 
(which  is  a  somewhat  extravagant  appellation 
for  the  family  apparel)  in  the  same  bucket ! 
Most  of  the  dwellers  thereabouts  keep  their  cut 
lery  by  splitting  a  crack  in  one  of  the  boards 
or  logs  of  the  cabin,  and  sticking  the  knives 
and  forks  into  it.  If  anything  happens  to  get 
misplaced,  the  inquiry  is  whether  the  seeker  has 
looked  into  the  crack. 

"  A  few  days  ago  a  neighbor  called  on  my 
friend's  wife.  Wheat-bread  was  on  the  table. 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  189 

The  agreeable  visitor  declared  her  inability  to 
eat  it.  She  said  'it  stuffed  her  up  so.'  Besides, 
she  did  n't  think  it  was  fit  for  white  folks,  though 
she  expressed  no  opinion  as  to  its  fitness  for  nig 
gers.  Her  taste  was  for  corn-bread." 

"  Corn-bread  is  an  excellent  thing  to  have  a 
taste  for." 

"  And  I  must  say  their  corn-bread  is  good. 
They  had  a  wedding  there  the  other  day.  The 
ceremony  was  unique.  After  it  was  over,  the 
clergyman  said  to  the  newly  married  pair,  4  that 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  State  of  Illinois, 
he  would  wish  them  good  luck  and  shake  hands 
with  them.'" 

"  If  golde  ruste  what  shulde  yren  do  ?  " 

"  There  is  rusty  gold  enough  anywhere  about. 
I  have  heard  it  given  as  a  good  reason  for 
liking  the  minister's  wife,  that  she  dug  all  the 
potatoes  herself,  and  then  wheeled  them  into 
the  cellar ! 

"  They  tell  a  story  —  I  don't  know  how  true 
it  is  —  of  a  man  named  Hoo-cr  wno  went  to  the 

C>C57 

Legislature  to  get  his  name  changed.  The  So- 
lons  were  complaisant.  What  would  he  like 
to  be  called  ?  O  anything ;  he  was  n't  partic- 


190  WOOL-GA  THEPJNG. 

ular.  So  the  legislators  very  obligingly  called 
him  Thing. 

"  Last  Sunday  but  one,  a  baby  died  in  the  vi 
cinity.  True  to  the  prevailing  fashion,  —  ought 
it  not  to  be  called  '  policy  '  ?  —  the  family  de 
clined  to  put  on  clean  clothing.  Also  they  went 
to  the  funeral  barefooted.  The  next  day  the 
baby's  sister  came  down  to  see  a  servant  of 
my  friend's.  She  sang  a  song  which  ran  thus, 

'  Let  the  world  wag  as  it  will, 
I  '11  be  gay  an'  happy  still ! ' 

They  say  she  was  gay  and  happy,  if  the  un 
earthly  row  she  made  indicated  a  happy  con 
dition  of  mind." 

"  I  suppose  the  poor  thing  had  been  brought 
up  to  it,  or  down  to  it,  all  her  life." 

"  O  yes.  They  are  pretty  much  on  a  level. 
Men,  women,  and  children  chew  tobacco  and 
swear.  Two  little  neighbor-children  called  at 
my  friend's.  One  of  them  was  four  years  old, 
and  expectorated  a  yellowish  fluid,  which  quite 
alarmed  my  friend.  '  Why,'  said  she  to  the 
elder  of  the  two,  '  what  is  the  matter  with 
your  little  sister  that  she  spits  so?' 

" 4  Well,'  was  the  answer,  in  a  sort  of  indig- 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  191 

nant  tone,  '  I  s'pose  our  Lucy  kin  chaw  tobacky 
if  she  wants  to ! ' 

But  this  broad,  rich  country  will  one  day  be 
rescued  from  thraldom.  Slavery  is  gone,  and 
all  its  shoots  and  suckers  will  presently  die. 
Art  and  science  and  religion  will  come  in  to 
these  dreary  intellectual  wastes,  and  the  dry 
lands  shall  be  springs  of  water.  This  is  mani 
fest  destiny. 

But  we  have  come  out  of  the  woods  and  the 
corn-fields ;  we  have  struck  the  Ohio  River  at 
last,  and  take  steamer  at  high  noon.  The  day 
is  cloudless,  the  river  coffee-colored  and  home 
ly  to  the  eye,  muddy  and  unsavory  to  the 
taste,  —  yet  a  little  way  off  it  cannot  help  shin 
ing  and  sparkling  in  this  brilliant  sun.  The 
shores  and  scenery  are  utterly  unlike  those  we 
have  so  lately  left,  but  they  have  an  interest 
of  their  own.  For  we  are  sailing  down  the 
late  dividing  line  between  Slavery  and  Free 
dom,  and  the  temptation  is  very  strong  to  "  of 
fer  a  few  remarks,"  as  they  say  at  "  evening 
meeting " ;  but  in  consideration  of  the  national 
fatigue  induced  by  four  years'  hard  fighting  and 
two  of  reconstructing,  I  spare  the  gentle  reader. 


192  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

I  will  not  promise,  however,  that  such  praise 
worthy  self-restraint  shall  endure  to  the  end. 
The  steamer  is  large  and  showy,  but  comfort 
able.  We  sit  on  the  sunny  side,  and  glide 
placidly  down  the  stream,  enjoying  the  loveli 
ness  of  the  sky,  and  the  gentle,  sometimes  beau 
tiful,  and  sometimes  rather  tame  shores  none 
the  less  for  the  mental  background  of  Missis 
sippi  bluffs  they  rise  against.  It  is  quiet  here 
and  soothing,  while  the  great  River  of  the 
North  stimulates  and  solemnizes.  There  are,  it 
may  be,  so  many  kinds  of  voices  in  the  world, 
and  none  of  them  is  without  signification,  and 
none  without  its  own  melody.  Perhaps  we 
go  up  into  the  pilot-house  to  get  uninterrupted 
views,  and  to  watch  out  the  lingering  afternoon. 
It  spreads  up  the  heaven  in  a  blaze  of  ruddy 
light.  It  softens  and  fades  and  dies  into  the 

O 

twilight,  it  is  gone,  and  the  great,  full  moon 
and  the  splendid  stars  come  out  and  take  their 
turn,  and  the  river  is  flooded  with  silver  light. 
I  am  so  happy  to  be  alive  and  see  it  all.  The 
pilot  is  civil,  but  silent.  One  hardly  ventures 
to  speak  to  him  lest  it  should  disturb  him,  and 
somehow  deflect  the  vessel  from  its  proper 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  1 03 

course,  and  send  us  all  to  the  bottom.  In 
deed,  I  am  half  afraid  he  does  not  want  us  here ; 
but  we  asked  permission,  and  he  gave  it  gra 
ciously.  When  we  go  down  to  supper,  however, 
he  invites  us  to  return,  —  an  invitation  which 
gives  instant  relief,  both  as  indemnity  for  the 
past  and  security  for  the  future.  He  tells  us 
moreover  that  his  watch  will  be  out  before  we 
come  back,  but  the  pilot  is  always  glad  to  have 
people  up  there.  He  is  apt  to  get  lonesome. 
Thank  you,  friend  Pilot,  that  is  just  what  we 
wish  to  know.  May  be  you  have  put  it  a  little 
couleur  de  rose,  but  never  mind. 

Supper  is  a  momentary  interruption,  and  we 
are  speedily  enthroned  again  in  the  pilot-house, 
among  the 

"  Silent  silver  lights  and  darks  undreamed  of, 
Where  I  hush  and  bless  myself  with  silence." 

But  our  pilot   number   two  is  of  a  social  turn, 
and   he   makes  us  acquainted  with  all  the  river 
lore,  and  amuses  us  with  stories  of  the  guerillas 
and  with  various  narratives  and  speculations. 
"  I  come  pretty  near  getting   catched   once," 

he   says.     "  I  was  at  the  landing  down  at  . 

All  at  once  a  company  of  'em  started  up,  twen- 


1 94  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

ty  men  I  should  think,  and  ordered  me  to  land. 
I  told  'em  no,  that  wa'n't  a  good  place  for  me 
to  land.  They  said  they  'd  kill  me  if  I  did  n't. 
I  told  'em  they  'd  kill  me  anyhow  if  they  got 
me  among  'em,  and  I  started.  Then  they  he- 
gun  to  fire.  I  was  up  here,  and  it  was  warm 
weather,  and  the  sashes  was  back,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  hinder.  Three  balls  hit  the 
wheel.  One  cut  the  bell-rope.  I  put  on  all 
the  steam  she  could  bear,  an'  seemed  as  if  she 
never  went  so  slow  in  the  world.  She  just 
seemed  to  float.  Of  course  she  was  goin'  like 
a  bird,  but  it  takes  a  good  while  to  get  out  of 
twenty-musket-range  when  you  're  once  in  it, 
long  or  short.  Now  the  head  of  that  gang  is 
put  up  for  the  Legislature." 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  wanted  to  capture  the 
boat,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Oh !  there  was  thirty-five  thousand  dollars 
in  her  safe,  and  they  knew  it.  That's  what 
they  were  after." 

"  But  why  did  they  come  at  you  ?  I  should 
think  they  would  have  commanded  the  captain 
to  give  up  the  boat." 

"  They  did  n't  stand  for  captain.     If  they  could 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  195 

kill  or  capture  me,  they  could  get  control  of  the 
ship  fast  enough." 

"  I  suppose  your  office  is  as  important  as  that 
of  captain." 

"  Yes,  all  the  lives  on  board  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  engineer  and  me." 

"  You  ought  to  be  trustworthy  men." 

"  Yes,  a  man  that 's  going  to  be  a  pilot  now 
has  to  take  some  pretty  solemn  oaths,"  —  and  he 
gives  the  preliminaries  of  induction  into  office, 
anecdotes  of  river  experience,  and  illustrations 
of  the  strictness  with  which  the  river  laws  and 
steamer  laws  are  enforced.  Then  we  fall  into 
silence  awhile,  which  he  breaks  with  the  re 
mark  that  it  is  very  pretty  weather.  So  it  is. 
I  had  not  thought  of  that  before.  Then  he 
takes  his  turn  at  eliciting  information. 

"  You  are  going  far  South  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  Chattanooga." 

"  Do  you  live  in  Chattanooga  ?  " 

"  No,  I  live  in  Massachusetts." 

u  Ain't  you  afraid,  coming  from  Massachu 
setts  ?  " 

"  No.     Why  ?  " 

"  O,  there  ain't  no  reason,  only  some  are." 


196  WOOL-GA  THE  RING. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger  to  a  North 
erner  travelling  South  ?  " 

"  O,  no ;  there  ain't  no  danger  at  all,  only 
from  some  of  the  roughs  down  there.  But 
they  won't  hurt  you." 

"But  did  not  the  guerillas  take  a  boat  from 
this  river,  only  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"No,  't  wa'n't  guerillas.  'T  was  a  piece  of  re 
venge.  What  they  wanted  was  the  mail  agent. 
An'  they  got  him.  'T  ain't  all  they  '11  get  either." 

"  How  came  your  people  to  give  him  up  ?  " 

"  They  would  have  mobbed  the  boat  if  he  had 
not  surrendered.  But  'twas  a  pretty  serious 
matter,  I  can  tell  you.  Stopping  a  guv'ment 
officer.  One  man  who  was  in  it  went  up  with 
us,  said  he  did  n't  expect  nothin'  less  'n  five 
years  in  the  penitentiary,  but  he  would  do  it 
again  I  —  Do  you  see  them  ducks  on  the  water. 
See  how  they'll  fly  when  we  drive  into  'em." 
And  so  they  do,  but  not  far,  for  they  are  used 
to  steamers  I  suppose,  and  soon  settle  down 
again  comfortably. 

How  smoothly  we  divide  the  shining  waters 
that  shine  in  wavering  lustres  behind  us  !  "  How 
beautiful  is  night !  "  The  "  silent  air  "  is  broken 


WOOL-GATHERING.  197 

at  length  by  our  friendly  pilot,  who  says  in 
half-musing  tones,  as  if  *it  might  pass  for  infor 
mation  to  us  if  we  chose  to  consider  it  such, 
or,  if  not,  it  would  serve  for  his  own  delecta 
tion.  "Steam  was  invented  by  an  old  woman 
from  her  tea-kettle." 

"  Was  it  ?     I  did  not  know  it." 

"Yes,  and  she  made  her  husband  have  her 
spinning-wheel  turned  by  it." 

u  That  is  where  she  was  right.  I  must  re 
member  that."  Another  pause. 

"  Steam 's  a  great  thing  anyhow." 

"  Yes,  it  does  a  good  deal  of  the  world's 
work." 

"  That 's  so." 

And  then  it  is  getting  late,  and  reluctantly 
we  leave  our  post  of  observation,  the  pilot  at 
tending  us  to  the  cabin  door,  and  inviting  us 
always  to  come  into  the  pilot-house  whenever 
we  are  travelling  on  the  river,  which  we  shall 
be  sure  to  do ;  but,  O  Pilot !  I  never  expect 
to  be  on  the  Ohio  River  again.  It  is  a  sad  de 
scent  from  the  outside  to  the  inside  of  a  steamer 
on  a  moon-lit,  star-lit  night,  and  I  am  incensed 
at  first  with  a  negro  woman,  who  has  lost  her 


198  WOOL-GATHERING. 

cat,  and  is  worrying  the  crew  about  it.  But 
her  voice  is  sweet,  her  manner  unobtrusive,  and 
her  affectionate  anxiety  so  great  as  to  secure 
sympathy.  The  servants  listen  to  her  patiently 
and  answer  her  civilly,  but  mutter  to  them 
selves,  "  Can't  bother  about  cats,  much  as  1 
can  do  to  look  after  folks."  The  night  passes 
as  it  may.  It  is  but  ill-sleeping  in  state-rooms, 
and  we  are  up  again  at  four  watching  out  the 
moon  and  her  long  train  of  light  on  the  wa 
ter.  While  it  is  yet  early  morning  the  steward 
comes  in  with  the  lost  cat,  which  leaps  up  into 
its  mistress's  lap,  amid  a  general  rejoicing.  With 
such  fair  auspices  we  disembark,  and  are  borne 
in  chilly  omnibuses,  through  the  gray  dawn, 
across  the  city  of  Louisville,  and  take  our  places 
in  a  car  that  looks  suspiciously  like  the  cast-off 
clothing  of  some  Northern  railway.  The  seats 
are  flat  and  hard.  The  blind  refuses  to  stay 
up,  and  has  to  be  constantly  propped;  but  the 
car  itself  moves  easily,  and  we  are  borne  safe 
ly  through  "  Old  Kentuck "  to  the  Mammoth 
Cave.  Fortunately  we  did  not  go  in,  but  only 
rode  over  the  top  of  it,  so  the  gentle  reader 
is  spared  the  stalagmites  and  stalactites,  the 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  199 

fishes  without  eyes,  the  fossil  remains  and  the 
sublime  sensations  —  fossil  too  —  with  which 
perforce  he  would  otherwise  have  been  deluged. 
Perhaps  the  statement  that  we  went  to  Mam 
moth  Cave  needs  a  little  modification ;  but  as 
'we  stopped  at  Cave  City,  which  is  but  about 
seven  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and 
as  the  cave  is  known  to  extend  ten  miles,  and 
is  supposed  to  reach  many  more,  it  may  safely 
be  inferred  that  the  railroad  runs  over  a  con 
siderable  part  of  it.  Indeed,  from  what  is  told, 
I  judge  Kentucky  to  be  pretty  nearly  hollow, 
so  completely  honey-combed  with  caves  is  it 
represented. 

But  more  thrilling  names  than  any  "  Cave " 
are  sounding  at  the  little  way-stations.  Eliza 
beth  Town,  Mumfordsville,  Bowling  Green,  — 
the  land  is  suddenly  alive.  Was  it  over  this 
pleasant  country,  through  these  beautiful,  silent 
groves,  that  Bragg  and  Buell  marched  and  coun 
termarched  all  those  anxious  days  that  seem 
a. ready  to  have  been  a  thousand  years  away? 
Are  these  the  rich  fields  to  which  the  Rebel 
general  brought  his  impoverished  army  to  feed 
it  upon  their  fatness  ?  And  here  we  get  our 


200  WOOL-GATHERING. 

first  glimpse  in  his  native  home  of  the  great, 
uncrowned  King  Cotton,  —  a  sorry-looking  mon 
arch  enough.  Let  us  hope  he  will  do  better 
service  as  a  subordinate  than  he  ever  did  as 
sovereign.  The  cotton-fields  are  not  very  at 
tractive.  They  have  a  scrawny  look.  The 
cotton  is  planted  in  hills  like  corn,  and  not,  as 
I  had  supposed,  sowed  broadcast,  like  wheat. 
The  snow-white  blooms  unfold  but  rarely,  only 
a  white  shell  bursting  here  and  there,  as  if  some 
one  had  scattered  a  few  pinches  of  cotton-wool, 
where  I  looked  for  broad  fields  of  whiteness. 
But  there  are  plenty  of  black  children,  little 
impish  half-naked  picaninnies,  plenty  of  women 
in  among  the  cotton,  gathering  it  into  large  bas 
kets,  and  a  few  men  with  large,  coarse  sacks 
tied  on  like  aprons,  in  which  they  place  the 
cotton  as  they  pluck  it.  They  are  taking  life 
leisurely.  They  look  up  from  their  work  and 
watch  us  out  of  sight,  and  we  are  in  Nashville, 
wandering  through  its  twilight  streets,  with  a 
sad  sense  of 

"  Power  departed,  glory  gone." 

Nashville,  the  pride  of  Tennessee,  the  bright, 
the  beautiful,  the  gay,  —  is  it  imagination,  or  is 


WOOL-GATHERING.  201 

it  reality  that  shrouds  the  light  with  gloom?  I 
could  think  the  houses  dark  and  damp,  the 
streets  not  clean  nor  cheerful.  There  are  few 
equipages,  no  riders,  little  that  speaks  of  the 
pleasure  or  content  of  life.  The  new  Capitol, 
an  imposing  marble  structure,  looks  down  upon 
the  Cumberland  River  from  a  height  of  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  feet,  but  looks  down 
also  upon  a  country  war-shorn  of  its  beauty. 
The  lovely  groves,  the  old  oaks,  the  wooded 
hills,  that  made  the  suburbs  of  Nashville  famous, 
have  disappeared.  It  is  a  bare  and  dreary  pas 
ture,  rough  with  earth-works,  bristling  with  forts, 
whence  not  long  since  the  bullets  came  whiz 
zing  through  the  cowed  and  sullen  city. 

And  I  think  of  that  Sunday  morning  five  years 
ago,  when  as  yet  Nashville  had  not  tasted  the 
cup  from  which  she  has  since  drank  so  deeply 
and  so  bitterly,  the  clear  bright  winter  morning 
when  there  came  down  upon  their  wild,  eager, 
expectant  hearts,  filled  with  dreams  of  conquest 
and  renown,  the  heavy  tidings,  the  doom  of  Don- 
elson.  We  at  the  North  remember  that  day 
well,  the  rapture  of  victory,  the  sorrow  of  slaugh 
ter,  the  joy  of  a  speedily  advancing  peace. 
9* 


202  WOOL-GATHERING. 

"  There  are  glad  hearts  and  sad  hearts 

By  millions  to-day, 
As  over  the  wires  the  magical  fires 

Are  flashing  the  tidings  of  Donelson's  fray ;  — 
Hearts  swelling  with  rapture 
For  Donelson's  capture  ; 
Hearts  breaking  with  aching 

For  Donelson's  slain. 
O,  whether  the  glory 
Of  Cumberland's  story, 
Or  grief  for  the  slaughter 
That  purpled  its  water, 

In  our  bosoms  should  reign, 
We  leave  in  its  doubt, 
And  join  the  wild  shout, 
The  tumultuous  hosanna, 
That  greets  our  dear  banner 
From  Donelson's  ramparts  in  triumph  flung  out. 

"  Some  to-morrow  for  sorrow 

Let  Donelson  claim ! 
When  over  the  dead  the  dirges  are  said ; 
But  to-day  shall  be  vocal  with  victory's  fame. 
Hearts  thrilling  with  rapture 
For  Donelson's  capture, 
Forgetting  that  blood  like  a  flood 

In  its  storming  was  shed. 
0,  matchless  the  glory 
Of  Cumberland's  story, 
By  our  cannon  rehearsed, 
By  our  bards  to  be  versed, 


WOOL-GA  TREEING.  203 

When  Rebellion  is  dead  ! 

For  joy-bells  and  chorus 

The  passion  comes  o'er  us, 

To  ring  and  to  sing 

The  tidings  that  bring 

The  downfall  of  treason  in  vision  before  us." 

And  their  consternation  matched  our  joy.  Panic 
took  the  place  of  pride.  The  frenzy  of  terror 
and  a  wild,  reckless  flight,  not  without  some 
mingling  of  the  ridiculous,  made  havoc  in  the 
fair  city,  and  since  then  it  has  been  trodden  un 
der  foot  by  contending  armies.  The  merchants 
of  the  land  weep  and  mourn  over  her,  Alas ! 
alas !  that  great  city,  that  was  clothed  in  fine 
linen,  and  purple,  and  scarlet,  and  decked  with 
gold,  and  precious  stones,  and  pearls  !  The  mer 
chandise  of  fine  flour,  and  wheat,  and  beasts, 
and  sheep,  and  horses,  and  chariots,  and  slaves, 
and  souls  of  men,  and  the  fruits  that  thy  soul 
lusted  after,  are  departed  from  thee,  and  all 
things  which  were  dainty  and  goodly  are  de 
parted  from  thee.  For  in  one  hour  is  she  made 
desolate. 

But  we  do  not  say,  "  Thou  shalt  find  them  no 
more   at  all."     We  hope  better  things.     Years 


204  WOOL-GA  THER1NG. 

must  pass  before  the  marks  of  war  are  oblit 
erated.  Houses  and  bridges  may  be  built  again, 
but  a  tree  takes  its  own  time,  and  an  hour 
cuts  down  what  centuries  alone  can  restore. 
But  the  restoration  is  begun.  Business  is  look 
ing  up.  The  hotels  are  filling.  Activity  has 
taken  the  place  of  stagnation.  A  native  Ten- 
nessean  who  accompanied  us,  himself  lately  an 
officer  in  the  Union  army,  thinks  everything  looks 
peaceable  and  promising.  The  October  elections, 
he  says,  had  a  very  marked  effect  in  toning 
down  the  people.  They  had  got  to  be  pretty 
arrogant  and  quarrelsome.  There  was  some  dif 
ficulty  almost  every  day,  but  there  has  been 
scarcely  any  since. 

"  Is  there  individual  freedom  in  Tennessee  ? 
Can  a  loyal  man  say  what  he  pleases  ?  " 

"  O  yes.  There  is  no  danger  in  saying  any 
thing  you  like  in  Tennessee.  I  don't  have  any 
trouble.  I  don't  keep  talking  just  for  the  sake 
of  talking,  and  irritating  men.  There  is  no  use 
in  that.  It  does  all  harm  and  no  good." 

"  But  you  do  not  disguise,  and  men  do  not 
mistake,  your  principles  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     Everybody  knows  where  I  am. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  205 

But  what  is  the  use  talking?  People  who  are 
haranguing  all  the  time,  and  inflaming  others, 
only  keep  the  spot  sore,  and  delay  recovery. 
There  are  those  who  want  to  keep  up  agita 
tion  for  their  own  ends.  I  just  go  about  my 
business.  That  is  what  is  needed.  If  a  man 
has  sense  and  tact,  he  will  get  along  well  enough, 
and  help  society  over  a  hard  place." 

So  far  so  good.  To  be  sure  perfect  freedom 
is  not,  until  a  man  can  speak  without  molesta 
tion,  even  if  he  have  not  sense  and  tact.  But 
all  in  good  time.  We  are  at  least  on  the  road 
to  liberty. 

"  Have  you  apprehensions  of  further  war  in 
any  case  ?  " 

"  None  at  all.  The  people  are  tired  of  war. 
Everybody  has  had  enough  of  it.  What  we 
want  is  peace ;  something  settled,  so  that  we 
shall  know  what  to  depend  upon.  We  suffered 
greatly  in  the  war,  but  we  are  rapidly  recov 
ering." 

May  the  peace  speedily  come,  and  with  the 
new  life  which  must  flow  into  the  South  when 
the  idea  of  human  rights  shall  have  fairly  sup 
planted  the  idea  of  human  wrongs,  Nashville 


206  WOOL-GATHERING. 

will  rise  to  a  higher  beauty  and  a  greater  pros 
perity  than  she  ever  saw  even  in  the  fevered 
visions  of  her  short  Secession  madness. 

Leaving  Nashville,  the  saddest  sight  of  all  is 
the  ridged  field  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
the  colored  soldiers'  burying-ground,  lying  on 
both  sides  of  the  track,  —  rows  upon  rows  of 
little  hillocks  close  set  side  by  side,  some  grass- 
grown,  and  others  newly  made,  some  with  a  white 
wooden  slab  at  the  head,  others  marked  still  by 
the  rough,  weather-stained  board  which  was  set 
in  the  beginning ;  every  little  hillock  hiding  its 
story,  which  no  man  shall  ever  read,  but  to 
gether  spreading  an  historic  page,  which  the 
world  has  already  read,  and  which  shall  never 
be  forgotten. 

From  eight  in  the  morning  till  six  in  the  even 
ing  we  ride  through  a  country  of  wild  beauty 
and  magnificence.  We  wind  along  the  base  of 
high  mountains,  so  close  to  walls  of  solid  rock 
a  hundred  feet  high,  that  we  can  almost  touch 
them  from  the  car-window.  Then  we  creep 
along  an  abutment  on  the  mountain's  side,  that 
nature  first  set  and  art  finished,  and  look  down, 
down,  down  upon  the  river  rolling  below;  and 


WO  OL-GA  T BERING.  207 

sometimes,  unable  to  turn  either  to  the  right 
or  the  left,  we  rumble  through  the  very  heart 
of  the  mountain,  in  among  the  gnomes  and 
kobolds.  One  such  tunnel  is  a  mile  and  a 
quarter  long,  and  the  lamps  are  lighted  as  we 
slowly  traverse  the  dark  passage.  Our  pro 
gress,  happily,  is  never  rapid.  The  jolting,  rat 
tling  cars  speak  of  years  or  hard  usage,  perhaps 
both,  and  we  must  make  up  in  care  what  we 
lack  in  carriage.  Everywhere  we  see  the  foot 
prints  of  war.  Man  has  indeed  marked  the  earth 
with  ruin.  Devastation  and  desolation  are  his 
contribution  to  the  scene  whereto  Nature  has 
brought  her  rare  beauty,  her  best  uses,  her  fer 
tility  and  her  sublimity.  The  Earth  is  tumult 
uous  with  embankments,  the  fortifications  of  a 
night.  Fragments  of  rough  palisades,  barricades 
of  brush  and  stones  and  mingled  soil,  are  strag 
gling  in  all  directions.  Dismantled  forts  crown 
the  hill-top.  A  stone  monument  rises  by  the 
railroad-side,  so  impressive  in  its  lonely  state, 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  wreck,  that  passengers 
make  inquiries  about  it,  and  are  told  that  it 
is  a  monument  to  those  who  fell  in  the  battle  of 
Stone  River.  We  are  crossing  the  battle-field  ap- 


208  WOOL-GATHERING. 

preaching  Murfreesboro ;  and  over  corn  and  cot 
ton  fields,  through  the  thickets,  in  the  swamps, 
across  the  marshes,  stretch  the  contending  armies 
of  our  country,  its  defenders  and  its  destroyers. 
Over  this  peaceful  land,  that  lies  now  so  silent 
and  so  pleasant  around  us,  swayed  and  surged 
the  blood-red  tide  of  war  in  fierce  ebb  and  flow, 
as  now  this  side  and  now  that  gained  moment 
ary  mastery.  Every  foot  of  ground  has  been 
struggled  for  to  the  death.  This  bright  air  has 
been  murderous  with  shot  and  shell.  This  rail 
way  embankment  has  been  the  breastwork  of 
brave  men  beating  back  their  country's  assail 
ants,  —  a  handful  stemming  and  turning  the  tide 
of  battle.  Hence,  in  confusion  and  darkness  and 
storm,  fled  the  grand  army  that  had  come  up 
from  the  South  exultant,  and  the  curtain  fell 
upon  the  first  act  of  "  the  Lost  Cause." 

Through  Middle  and  Southern  Tennessee,  and 
down  into  Alabama,  —  sweet,  softly  flowing 
names,  —  lands  rich  in  promise  and  possibility, 
but  wretched  and  squalid.  We  read  of  privation 
and  suffering;  but  the  book  that  opens  before 
our  eyes  tells  a  tale  utterly  new  and  unsus 
pected.  Can  one  dream  of  a  life  so  miserable 


WOOL-GATHERING.  209 

and  meagre  as  that  which  stagnates  here  ?  It 
is  not  life,  but  lifelessness.  The  station-villages 
show  a  huddle  of  dirty-white  frame  houses, 
small,  disorderly,  mean,  set  apparently  with  no 
attempt  at  regularity,  built  with  no  thought  of 
symmetry  or  beauty,  scarcely  one  would  say  of 
comfort  or  thrift,  —  they  might  be  workshops 
rather  than  houses.  Groups  of  unkempt,  un 
shorn,  unwashed  men  lounge  on  the  stoops ; 
men  and  village  are  dirty-white  together. 

But  this  is  the  better  class  of  houses.  By  far 
the  larger  number  on  the  road,  all  except  those 
in  the  villages,  are'  huts,  cabins,  built  perhaps 
of  logs,  sometimes  of  the  roughest  boards.  One 
shudders  to  think  of  human  beings  living  in 
such  houses,  and  content  to  live  there.  Some 
times  house  and  barn  and  shed  are  under  one 
roof,  the  shed  in  the  middle.  Oftener  no  barn 
appears.  The  chimneys  are  rudely  built  up 
from  the  ground  and  at  the  end  of  the  house, 
with  stones  of  various  sizes  gathered  from  the 
pastures,  sticks,  and  bits  of  boards  piled  trans 
versely,  and  daubed  with  clay.  Black  and  white 
live  side  by  side,  as  it  is  easy  to  see,  for  the 
door-ways  are  generally  filled  with  gazers,  look- 


210  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ing  even  more  wretched  and  squalid  than  their 
houses.  One  door  is  adusk  with  swart  faces, 
at  varying  distances  from  the  ground,  and  a 
few  feet  away  another  hovel  overflows  with 
tow-heads.  The  whites  seem  by  far  the  most 
pitiable.  They  have  a  gray,  earthy  look,  as  if 
the  Lord  God  had  formed  them  of  the  dust  of 
the  ground,  particularly  of  Tennessee  clay,  but 
had  hardly  yet  breathed  into  their  nostrils  the 
breath  of  life.  The  dress  of  the  women  is  no 
dress  at  all,  and  but  a  very  partial  covering. 
Bare  feet,  bare  legs,  lank  skirts,  moppy  hair,  is 
the  costume.  One  would  not  mind  a  group  or 
two  here  and  there,  but  a  country  peopled  by 
such  beings,  a  country  dotted  with  such  dwell 
ings,  leaves  a  hopelessness  on  the  soul.  To  ride 
hour  after  hour  past  these  dreary,  despairing 
habitations,  to  see  swarm  after  swarm  of  these 
pallid,  dull  faces,  —  homes  with  all  that  makes 
home  desirable  faded  out,  life  with  sd  that  makes 
life  lovely  vanished  away,  —  O  the  sudden  sad 
ness  of  it !  It  seems  as  if  in  some  sort  one's 
country  had  suffered  change.  You  thought  all 
was  prosperity  and  progress,  even  if  sometimes 
a  little  noisy  and  rude.  But  here  are  silence, 
submission,  and  degradation. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  211 

The  only  architecture  that  relieves  the  eye  is 
the  architecture  of  the  war.  Scattered  along 
the  road  at  irregular  intervals,  perhaps  to  pro 
tect  the  bridges,  are  block-houses,  I  believe  they 
are  called,  built  of  short  logs  with  the  bark 
still  on,  set  upright  and  close  together,  arranged 
in  two  or  three  tiers,  the  upper  ones  set  in 
from  the  lower,  an!  forming  broken  but  regu 
lar  lines ;  they  loo^  like  rustic  summer-houses 
on  a  large  scale,  and  both  in  color  and  form 
are  picturesque  and  pleasing. 

Suddenly  we  whiz  by  a  sign,  —  a  white-paint 
ed  board  fastened  on  the  top  of  a  high  pole, 
with  the  words  plainly  and  neatly  printed  in 
black, 


PLEASE  THROW  us 
A  PAPER. 


We  are  out  of  reach  almost  before  I  read  it, 
and  I  have  only  a  few  bitterly  rebellious  news 
papers,  —  we  make  a  point  of  buying  such,  — 
and  I  will  not  add  fuel,  no,  not  so  much  as  a 
chip,  or  a  burnt-out  lucifer  match,  to  the  fire 
that  is  consuming  this  South  country ;  but  how 
I  wish  I  had  some  friendly,  sensible  paper,  full 


212  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

of  news  and  good-will  and  sound  politics,  and 
a  pencil  and  a  spare  minute  that  I  might  fling 
a  message  to  some  hungry  soul !  On  the  whole, 
which  shall  we  pity  most,  he  who  dwells  in 
this  moral  and  social  waste  and  wants  to  get 
out  of  it,  or  he  who  lives  here  content?  The 
last,  certainly,  for  suffering  is  a  sign  of  life. 
Please  throw  us  a  paper.  It  is  a  sign-board 
indeed,  where  more  is  read  than  was  ever  writ 
ten.  It  shows  a  face  turned  in  the  right  direc 
tion.  It  is  a  faint  streak  of  light  in  a  dark  place. 
I  could  not  see  the  cottage,  if  there  was  one 
near,  to  tell  whether  it  showed  any  marks  of  a 
better  thought  than  its  mates,  but  I  fancied  that 
request  the  work  of  a  rebel  soldier,  —  some  lad 
who  went  into  the  army  and  saw  the  world, 
and  came  back  again  never  to  be  quite  the 
same  as  before.  He  will  never  again  wrap  him 
self  stolidly  in  isolation.  He  has  established  re 
lations  with  something  beyond  his  own  village, 
and  he  will  keep  open,  if  interrupted,  communi 
cation  with  his  new  demesne. 

But  I  cannot  conceive  of  a  Northern  man  in 
any  strait  having  recourse  to  such  a  mode  of 
relief.  It  is  not  the  Northern  way  of  doing 
things. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  213 

I  wish  the  train  would  run  off  the  track  here, 
—  gently,  just  enough  to  give  us  two  or  three 
hours  of  waiting,  —  so  that  we  could  walk  back 
along  the  roadside,  and  have  a  rambling  talk 
with  these  people.  I  should  like  to  know  how 
life  looks  to  them.  I  wonder  what  they  think 
of  social  science,  and  glaciers,  and  reconstruction, 
and  the  origin  of  species,  and  sewing-machines, 
and  washing  powders.  It  must  have  been  in 
some  of  these  dismal  door-yards  that  the  Union 
soldier  said  to  his  friend,  a  little  petulantly  per 
haps,  "  Miserable,  God-forsaken  country  !  It 
is  n't  worth  fighting  for !  "  And  faith  replied, 
"  But  it  is  as  good  a  place  as  any  to  make  a 
stand  for  a  principle." 

Something  hereabouts  is  very  crooked,  the 
river,  or  the  country,  or  the  railroad.  We  dip 
down  into  Alabama,  then  we  run  up  to  Ten 
nessee,  then  a  short  cut  into  Georgia,  then  we 
scud  back  to  Tennessee,  and  four  times  in  rapid 
succession  we  cross  the  Tennessee  River ;  but 
though  we  change  the  place,  we  keep  the  pain, 
pain  of  poverty  in  its  naked  repulsiveness,  with 
out  concealment,  without  hope,  and  without 
shame. 


214  WOOL-GATHERING. 

Shell  Mound,  Hooker,  Wauhatchee,  —  the 
squalid  huts  fade  out  of  sight,  and  the  late 
years  come  crowding  back  again.  Through  the 
twilight  we  are  passing  into  the  shadows  of  a 
great  mountain.  There  is  no  need  to  be  told  its 
name.  It  is  Lookout. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Shady  South.  —  Moppet's  Ideas  of  Things.  — A  Charleston  Irish 
woman's  Experience  and  Observation.  —  New  England  in 
Chattanooga.  —  Hackmanism  in  Chattanooga.  —  Mars  bear 
ing  a  Clothes-basket.  —  Freedmen's  Houses.  —  Intelligent 
Driver.  —  Military  Ascent  of  Lookout  according  to  Intel 
ligent  Driver.  —  Civil  Ascent  of  Lookout.  —  Scones  within 
Scenes.  —  Paying  off  old  Scores.  —  Historic  Doubts  concern 
ing  Mission  Ridge.  —  Impossibility  of  Storming  Lookout. 
—  Storming  Lookout.  —  Ingenious  Manner  of  giving  one's 
self  a  little  Puff.  —  Doing  one's  Duty  to  the  Rising  Gen 
eration. —  The  School  on  Mount  Lookout.  —  Reappearance 
of  Mars.  —  A  Bid  for  Flattery.  —  Proposal  to  carry  the  War 
into  Africa.  —  The  African  proving  a  somewhat  Long  Road 
to  Travel,  but  Ending  in  Africa  at  last.  —  Neatness  and 
Charm  of  Africa.  —  Revelation  to  an  Ethiop  of  the  Jewel  in 
his  Ear.  He  bears  it  like  a  Man.  —  Reconstruction. 


•E  stop  in  the  darkness  at  Chat 
tanooga,  and  make  a  pilgrim's  pro 
gress  to  the  hotel.  The  Conductor 
Greatheart  goes  ahead  with  a  lantern,  and  all 
the  Feeble-Minds  and  the  Ready-to-Halts  and 
the  Turn-Aways  flock  after  him  in  a  dream. 
A  few  steps  through  the  darkness  take  us  to 


216  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

the  inn,  which  is  entirely  dream-dispelling.  In 
the  dull  half-light  of  the  lantern  it  seems  to  be 
an  old-fashioned  low  wooden  house  or  block  of 
houses.  There  are  innumerable  windows  and 
front  doors.  There  is  a  yard  in  front  with 
a  little  summer-house,  plats  of  flowers,  and  a 
plank  walk  leading  through  it.  The  interior, 
like  the  exterior,  is  old-fashioned  and  decent. 
The  warm  weather  of  Minnesota  has  given 
place  to  sharp  autumn  airs.  Evidently  the 
sunny  South  is  a  cold  country ;  but  there  is 
a  comfortable  fire  in  the  waiting-room,  a  com 
fortable  supper  in  the  dining-room,  and  a  long 
evening  to  be  disposed  of;  so  after  supper  we 
sit  enjoying  the  fire,  the  constant  ebb  and  flow 
of  guests,  and  the  thick-coming  fancies  and  mem 
ories  of  the  place.  A  little  black  maid  hovers 
about  the  room  constantly.  She  feeds  the  stove, 
opens  the  doors,  answers  questions,  runs  of  er 
rands,  but  chiefly  perches  on  the  window-seat 
and  travels  around  the  room  with  hor  eyes. 
My  thought  follows  her.  "  Moppet,  what  town 
is  this?" 

"  This  is   Chattanooga,"  smiling  and   curious, 
but  self-possessed. 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  217 

"  What  do  people  come  here  for  ?  "  Vacancy. 
"  What  is  there  here  to  see  ?  " 

"  Th'  ain't  nothin'  extry,  only  walk  roun'  an' 
see  the  houses  and  stores." 

"  You  seem  to  be  all  alone  here  among  the 
woods  and  mountains.  Is  there  any  other  town 
or  village  near." 

"  There  's  Chickamauga.  That 's  about  six 
miles  from  this." 

"  What  kind  of  a  place  is  that  ?  " 

"  'T  ain't  so  big  a  place  as  this." 

"  Did  anything  remarkable  ever  happen  there  ?  " 

"  They  had  a  big  fight  there.  That 's  why 
they  call  it  Chickamauga."  (!) 

"  Do  you  know  who  fought  ?  " 

"  I  forget.  I  believe  it  was  Mr.  Sherman. 
Mr.  Hooker  too." 

"  Did  he  beat  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Well  no,  not  exactly,  but  he  kept  on 
fighting  till  he  did." 

"  Were  you  here  then  ?  " 

"  No.     This  house  was  a  hospital  then." 

"  Who  held  it  ?  Which  army  had  it  for  a  hos 
pital  ?  " 

"  It  was  fust  for  Rebs.  Then  the  Yankees  took 
10 


218  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

it,"  —  and  Moppet  is  called  from  her  perch  to  hold 
the  light  for  a  woman  who  has  lost  some  money. 
We  all  assist  in  the  search,  bowing  over  the 
sombre  carpet.  A  two-dollar  bill  she  says  she 
had  in  her  hand.  She  is  sure  she  had  it  in 
her  hand.  She  is  an  Irishwoman,  but  with 
less  Irish  than  Southern  accent,  travelling  from 
Charleston  to  Memphis,  and  is  waiting  here  for 
the  night  train.  She  took  off  her  bonnet  and 
washed  her  face,  and  then  her  money  was  gone. 
After  a  prolonged  hunt  she  suddenly  discovers 
the  money  in  her  pocket.  Well,  she  knew  she 
.had  it  in  her  hand,  and  she  was  sure  she  did 
not  want  to  lose  it.  It  costs  to  travel  now-a- 
days.  It  cost  her  forty-three  dollars  to  go  from 
Charleston  to  Memphis,  besides  her  victuals. 
In  the  joy  of  her  new-found  bill  she  becomes 
communicative,  and  tells  us  she  is  going  there 
to  live  with  her  sister.  Her  two  nephews  are 
travelling  with  her.  A  good  many  are  leaving 
for  the  West.  The  cars  she  came  in  were 
crammed. 

"What  is  the  cause  of  it?" 

"  O,  there  is  nothin'  to  do  in  Charleston  I 
Charleston  is  all  broke  up  and  ruined." 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  219 

"  Ruined  by  the  war,  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  Yes,  't  was  an  awful  war.     O,  't  was  an  aw 
ful  war  !  " 

44  Did  you  see  much  of  it  yourself?  " 
"  Yes,   I  was  in  it  all  the   time.     I   lost   my 
father  and  brother  in  it.     My  father  was  in  the 
army  and  took  sick.     My  brother  was  killed   at 
the  explosion  in  Fort  Sumter." 

"  Were  you  ever  afraid  for  yourself?  " 
44  We  was  afraid  of  Sherman  and  Kilpatrick's 
men.  The  Rebs  said  all  the  time  he  would  n't 
get  in.  No,  he  wouldn't  get  in.  He  would  n't 
get  in.  And  then  we  heard  he  was  comin'. 
But  they  said  he  would  n't  get  in.  But  he 
kept  comin'  and  comin',  and  we  skedaddled." 

"  Where  did  you  skedaddle  to  ?  "  using  the 
word  as  familiarly  as  if  it  had  been  Addison's 
own. 

44  We  went  to  Newberry,  —  my  aunt  and  my 
cousin  and  two  nephews.  My  aunt  sold  her 
furniture,  sold  everything.  She  had  beautiful 
furniture.  She  brought  it  from  Dublin.  But 
she  just  tore  everything  up  and  sold  out." 

44  How  could  she  sell  if  there  was  such  a 
panic?  I  should  not  think  any  one  would  have 
been  found  to  buy." 


220  WOOL-GA  TI1EPJNG. 

"  They   were  all  in  a  craze  about    Sherman. 
They  didn't  know  what  they  did." 

"  How  did  you  get  away  from  Charleston  ?  " 
"  People  went  any  way  they  could.  We  had 
a  mule  team.  We  crossed  the  Saluda  River 
on  just  boards  with  chains.  Two  men  stood 
one  side  and  two  the  other,  and  kept  us  on. 
The  mules  would  want  to  drink,  and  they  had 
to  hold  on.  I  was  awful  scairt.  Moonlight 
nights  we  would  travel,  and  camp  dark  ones. 
Made  a  heap  o'  difference  whether  there  was 
a  moon  or  not.  And  we  could  n't  get  rest  no 
where.  We  'd  just  settle  down  and  then  't  was 
6  Sherman  is  comin',  '  Sherman  '11  ruin  you,' 
4  Sherman  this,  an'  Sherman  that.'  We  were 
goin'  up  to  Greenfield,  an'  we  heard  he  was 
there  burnin'  an'  shootin'  and  enterin'  houses 
an'  doin'  everything,  and  so  we  came  back." 
"  Was  he  burning  at  such  a  rate  ?  " 
"  O  yes,  he  just  burnt  everything.  Burnt 
the  crops  arid  the  garden  patches.  Jack  Han 
was  a  rich  farmer  up  there,  and  they  burnt 
him  out  entirely.  He  's  a  poor  man  now." 

"Did    they   burn    him   any   closer    than    the 
rest  ?  " 


WOOL-GATHERING.  221 

ci  Why,  yes,  't  was  revenge.  He  shot  a  soldier, 
a  Yankee,  for  stealing  a  melon  in  his  field,  and 
the  soldiers  found  it  out  and  burnt  everything, 
and  set  fire  to  the  town." 

"  Why  did  n't  they  catch  him  and  punish 
him  ?  " 

"  O,  they  could  n't.  He  run  into  the  coun 
try.  They  would  n't  have  known  it  at  all,  but 
a  colored  man  saw  it  and  told,  —  one  of  his 
own  men.  It  ruined  Jack  Han." 

"  Do  you  think  the  colored  people  have  been 
changed  at  all  by  the  war?" 

"  O  yes,  the  colored  people  in  Charleston 
don't  work  now.  They  won't  work.  They  are 
all  lazy  and  jes'  walk  roun'.  People  advertise 
in  the  papers  for  white  servants.  They  won't 
have  colored  people.  The  colored  persons  is 
awful  sassv  in  Charleston.  They  take  the  in 
side  of  the  walk  of  a  white  person,  an'  they 
insult  you  as  quick  as  they  see  you,  and  if  you 
say  a  word  they  make  faces  at  you." 

"  Did  you  care  much  yourself  which  way  the 
war  went  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  disgust  for  the  Yankees  at  first.  I 
lost  my  father  and  brother.  Of  course  we  want- 


222  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ed  to  be  governed  by  our  own  people.     We  Ve 
no  use  for  the  Yankees." 

The  hotel  is  under  the  charge  of  a  woman, 
and  there  is  the  very  womanish  trait  of  having 
the  best  room  shut  up.  We  are  treated  to  a 
peep  at  it,  —  a  well-furnished  room  with  bright 
carpet,  gilt  looking-glasses,  upholstered  chairs, 
stately  and  cold,  as  best  rooms  have  a  right  to 
be ;  but  there  seems  a  touch  of  New  England  in 
this  exclusiveness,  and  we  are  not  surprised  to 
learn  that  the  careful,  sociable,  modest,  and 
motherly  woman  who  seems  to  be  holding  the 
whole  house  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand  is  a 
Northern  woman.  Indeed,  her  speech  bewrayeth 
her,  as  it  does  all  of  us  Northerners  and  South 
erners,  Yankees,  Buckeyes,  and  Hoosiers.  She 
and  her  husband  sold  their  farm,  and  came  down 
here  to  make  their  fortune.  Does  she  like? 
Well,  yes,  enough  to  stay  another  year.  It 
is  for  her  interest  to  stay,  and,  like  the  thrifty 
woman  she  is,  she  means  to  stay,  like  or  not. 
But  I  fancy  her  carefulness  must  be  sometimes 
sorely  tried  by  Southern  and  African  un  thrift. 
Yet  she  speaks  well  of  her  servants,  the  colored 
girls.  They  receive  three  dollars  a  week,  and 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  223 

are  faithful  and  efficient.  She  has  no  trouble 
with  them.  But  evidently  Chattanooga  is  not 
the  "  big  place  "  to  her  that  it  is  to  her  little 
dusky  handmaiden.  "  There  's  nothin'  of  it," 
she  says  with  well-founded  disgust.  "  It 's  the 
war  that  has  made  Chattanooga.  There  's  noth 
in'  of  it  but  a  depot  and  a  store  and  Gov'ment 
buildings." 

"  Are  there  no  schools  for  the  children  ?  " 

"  O  yes,  my  girl  goes  to  a  beautiful  school, 
—  a  boarding-school,  half-way  up  the  mountain. 
It  is  kept  by  Mr.  Williams.  He  is  the  Princi 
pal,  but  there  's  others." 

"  Is  he  a  Southern  man  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  from  Massachusetts.  They  are 
all  from  Massachusetts  and  New  Hampshire. 
They  are  all  young.  It 's  a  new  school,  but  an 
excellent  one." 

I  begin  to  remember  reading  of  a  new  school 
established  there  by  some  enterprising,  benevolent, 
and  far-sighted  man,  and  ask  her  if  this  school  is 
not  a  Northern  affair. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is ;  a  Mr.  Roberts  laid  it 
out." 

"Is  there  a   Mr.  C.  C.   Carpenter  connected 


224  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

with   it,  —  a   former   missionary  to   the   Caribou 
Islands  ?  " 

"  The  very  same.  He  and  his  wife  are  in  it.' 
We  must  look  in  upon  this  school,  surely, 
a  school  hanging  on  a  battle-field  half-way  up 
the  sky.  Below,  it  seems  but  an  uncanny  place, 
but  may  be  they  are  nearer  Heaven  up  yon 
der. 

The  morning  dawns  bright  and  beautiful  and 
cold.  Such  carriages  as  we  have  been  able  to 
secure  are  at  the  gate,  —  antique  barouches  at 
uncertain  stages  of  preservation,  each  drawn 
by  two  venerable  horses,  and  guided  by  a  dis 
creet  driver ;  with  which  brilliant  equipages  our 
wayward  sisters  replenish  their  exhausted  treas 
ury  at  the  rate  of  ten  dollars  the  carriage  for  a 
morning's  drive.  Leaving  our  rooms,  we  are 
accosted  in  the  corridor  by  a  United  States 
soldier,  bravely  attired  in  army  blue,  tall  and 
respectful  and  fine-looking,  black  but  comely. 
His  mission  is  anything  but  martial.  Have  we 
any  washing  we  should  like  to  put  out  ?  Of 
course  we  have.  Are  travellers  ever  without 
it  ?  I  wonder  if  he  is  a  trustworthy  launder, 
—  (laundress  he  cannot  be,  —  why  not  then 


WOOL-GA  THER1NG.  225 

launder  ?)     Does  he  belong  to  the  house  ?     No, 

but   his  wife  washes  for  Lieut.  in    yonder 

room,  and  he  has  just  brought  home  the  official 
clothes.  A  basket  confirmatory  stands  at  the 
designated  door,  and  he  goes  away  grateful,  with 
a  bigger  bundle  than  he  brought,  but  faithfully 
promising  to  return  it  punctually  before  nightfall. 
We  drive  alono-  the  bottom  of  the  basin  in 

O 

which  Chattanooga  stands.  The  houses  of  the 
freedmen  are  scattered  over  the  plain,  — some 
times  crammed  close  together,  and  sometimes 
straying  out  into  the  fields  adventurous  and 
alone.  They  are  comical  little  shanties,  curiously 
awry,  laboriously  patched,  boards  projecting  be 
yond  the  walls  at  irregular  lengths,  broken-backed 
roofs,  not  a  straight  line  anywhere,  but  every 
variety  of  shapelessness.  They  are  such  houses 
as  very  small  boys  might  build  in  play-hours, 
pens  rather  than  houses  ;  but  they  are  generally 
whitewashed,  and  look  far  less  squalid  than  the 
huts  we  have  seen  on  our  journey  hither.  They 
embody  ambition,  improvement,  personal  effort  to 
better  one's  condition.  You  cannot  help  being 
amused  at  their,  comical  and  ingenious  crooked 
ness,  yet  there  is  a  little  twinge  of  pathos  be- 
10*  o 


226  WOOL-GATHERING. 

hind  the  smile.  The  women  are  at  work,  wash 
ing,  knitting,  and  perhaps  gossiping,  and  the 
children  are  playing  in  the  common  door-yard, 
—  the  open  pasture. 

We  have  reached  the  base  of  Lookout.  The 
mountain  faces  us,  rugged,  wooded,  steep,  abound 
ing  in  precipices  apparently  inaccessible.  But 
we  follow  a  winding  and  safe  road.  Our  driver 
is  a  white  man,  inexhaustibly  stupid  or  insanely 
cunning.  He  discovers  no  interest  in  anything, 
never  speaks  except  when  he  is  spoken  to, 
which  is  an  excellent  thing  in  drivers,  —  but 
when  he  is  spoken  to  he  travels  a  Sabbath-day's 
journey  over  the  barren  fields  of  his  mind  be 
fore  he  is  prepared  to  make  the  startling  an 
nouncement  that  he  u  don't  know."  It  would 
give  a  spice  of  romance  if  we  could  suppose 
him  an  ex-Rebel  soldier  shamming  ignorance  to 
annoy  his  late  foes,  but  there  is  nothing  to 
keep  such  a  theory  in  countenance. 

"  Driver,  what  part  of  the  Mountain  did  our 
army  take  when  they  charged  up  Lookout  ? " 

Six  geographical  miles  through  the  desert  of 
Sahara,  then,  "  Jest  along  here," 

"  Did  they  not  ascend  both  sides  of  the  moun 
tain?" 


WOOL-GATHERING.  227 

"  No.     They  went  in  the  road." 

"  Did  the  whole  army  march  up  this  road  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  But  the  enemy  would  have  planted  cannon 
and  swept  them  all  away." 

"  Had  to  go  in  this  road.  There  wa'  n't  any 
other  way  to  get  up." 

Which  settles  the  question,  does  it  not,  sol 
diers  of  the  White  Star,  men  of  Ohio,  Ken 
tucky,  Illinois? 

Leaving  the  plain,  the  road  turns  into  the 
woods  and  bears  zigzag  up  the  mountain.  Now 
at  the  base  of  steep,  sharp  cliffs,  and  now  diz 
zily  along  their  edge,  under  great  forest-trees, 
gorgeous  with  the  season's  splendid  hues.  For 
Autumn,  departing  from  the  North,  flung  his 
mantle  of  many  colors  over  this  Southland,  and 
draped  her  sorrow  with  a  more  than  royal  mag 
nificence.  The  brilliant  sunshine  streams  down 
through  the  glorious  leafage,  which  gathers  all 
the  lustre  and  transmutes  it  into  an  intenser  ra 
diance,  till  the  old  mountain  is  aglow,  —  a  very 
Kohinoor,  —  a  mountain  of  light.  With  every 
turn  in  the  road,  with  every  opening  of  the 
trees,  comes  some  fresh  view  of  loveliness  or 


228  WOOL-GATHERING. 

grandeur,  —  glimpse  of  silent  valley  and  spark 
ling  river  below,  of  the  long  line  of  purple 
mountains  beyond,  of  calm  sky  bending  blue 
above.  Half-way  up,  perhaps,  we  come  upon 
a  level  space,  a  sort  of  plain  or  plateau,  open, 
but  shaded  by  grand  old  trees  and  home-like 
with  little  wooden  cottages,  summer-houses  of 
Southern  gentlemen  before  the  war  thundered 
up  the  mountain-side ;  and  a  charming  retreat 
it  must  have  been,  loved  of  bird  and  breeze  and 
flower  and  vine,  far  up  above  the  heat  and  dust 
and  noise  of  common  life,  won  to  the  sweet 
solitude  of  the  mountain,  deep  hidden  in  the 
melodious  silences  of  nature.  Why  should  men 
have  sought  with  painful  journey  ings  our  far 
Northern  hills,  when  delightful  spots  of  green 
ery  lay  at  their  own  door?  But  now  the  trail 
of  the  serpent  is  over  it  all.  Ruined  barri 
cades,  shattered  earthworks,  remains  of  rifle- 
pits,  prostrate  tree-trunks,  scarred  and  mutilated 
trees,  mark  the  mad  track  of  battle.  The  road 
becomes  more  rough,  the  silence  more  sacred. 
There  is  no  speech  nor  language,  —  only  the 
voice  of  the  wind  in  the  tree-tops  hushed  to  a 
gentle  sighing,  only  the  low  murmur  of  mul- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  229 

titudinous  leaves,  —  the  plaintive  undertone  of 
nature.  The  carriage  stops,  we  alight,  we  fol 
low  the  sharp  turns  of  a  rocky,  climbing  wood- 
path,  and  suddenly  in  a  moment  the  whole  vast 
sweep  of  valley  and  sky  is  before  us.  We  have 
gained  the  summit  of  Lookout. 

Beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the  whole 
Earth,  is  Mount  Zion. 

I  shall  not  soon  behold  a  fairer  sight  than  this ; 
but  it  is  no  fair  sight  that  enchains  the  gaze, 
and  stills  the  breath,  and  sends  a  shiver  through 
the  frame.  Not  the  beautiful  river  far  down  at 
our  feet,  silver  bright  in  silver  light,  loitering 
between  its  bosky  banks  on  its  most  wilful  way, 
not  the  broad  valley  basking  in  the  sun  beneath 
its  mountain  walls,  nor  the  mountains  them 
selves,  shimmering  now  afar  with  a  warm  blue 
indistinctness,  —  not  one  nor  all  of  these  could 
so  fix  and  fill  the  startled  soul,  startled  with 
sharp  pain  and  with  a  sudden  rapture. 

To  me  this  is  the  battle-field  of  the  war, 
scarcely  surpassed  in  the  magnitude  of  its  re 
sults,  never  in  the  romantic  interest  of  its  pro 
gress.  East  and  west  and  north  and  south 
it  stretches,  a  line  of  battle  eight  miles  long 


230  WOOL-GA  THER1NG. 

and  twenty-eight  hundred  feet  high  !  Georgia, 
Alabama,  Tennessee,  are  all  in  sight,  and  all 
is  battle-ground.  Off  in  the  southeast  is  the 
bloody  field  of  Chickamauga.  To  the  right 
stretches  the  long  line  of  wooded  hills  that  form 
the  Mission  Ridge,  recalling  in  its  name  anoth 
er  tragedy  in  our  country's  history,  a  bitter 
war  of  races,  a  story  of  oppression  and  vio 
lence,  the  final,  forcible  uprooting  of  a  whole 
people  from  home  and  country,  and  their  sad 
and  sullen  transfer  to  a  far-off,  unknown  land. 
But  there  are  golden  threads  shining  through 
that  sombre  web.  Mission  Ridge  perpetuates 
something  better  than  man's  inhumanity  to 
man.  It  tells  a  story  of  Christian  love  and 
labor  for  those  whom  selfishness  and  greed  and 
tyranny  were  grinding  between  the  upper  and 
nether  millstones.  Verily  he  is  a  God  that 
judge th  in  the  earth.  It  would  seem  as  if 
grace  and  pardon  were  for  individuals  only.  In 
nature  and  nations  there  is  no  forgiveness,  only 
inexorable  law.  The  lands  wrung  from  help 
less,  hapless  Indians  have  been  desolated  with  a 
greater  desolation  than  the  Indians  ever  knew. 
Men  went  out  from  their  homes  vowing  never 


WOOL-GATHERING.  231 

i 

to  return  till  they  had  slain  at  least  one  victim. 
And  now  in  the  valleys  and  plains  so  wickedly 
won  blood  toucheth  blood,  —  the  blood  of  their 
own  children.  As  it  was  in  a  measure  the 
whole  nation's  sin,  so  it  was  in  equal  measure 
the  whole  nation's  suffering. 

On  the  plain  below  in  front  and  a  little  to 
the  right  sits  Chattanooga,  on  a  point  of  land 
formed  by  a  bend  in  the  river.  Puny  enough 
she  looks,  squatting  there  in  presence  of  all  this 
grandeur  and  glory  of  mountain  and  river,  like 
a  child's  roughly-handled  and  well-worn  toy  vil 
lage ;  but  she  keeps  fast  hold  of  her  line  of 
roads  that  strike  out  in  all  directions,  for  she 
knows  that  in  them  lies  her  strength.  The 
yellow  highways  twisting  and  turning  across 
the  valley  look  like  the  veins  in  marble.  On 
the  left  is  Lookout  Valley.  The  wrayward 
Tennessee,  running  hither  and  thither  every 
where  before  it  seriously  sets  about  escaping 
from  its  environment,  carves  out  before  us  the 
rude  outline  of  a  human  foot,  —  a  hint  which 
the  valley-dwellers  took,  and  called  the  confor 
mation  Moccason  Point.  Thence  in  the  battle- 
autumn  our  batteries  belched  up  a  grim  salute 


232  WOOL-GATHERING. 

to  Lookout,  and  Lookout  sent  down  grim  re 
joinder.  Through  all  this  smiling  silence  it  is 
easy  to  see  this  whole  plain  astir  with  armed 
men,  —  everywhere  the  terrible  glitter  of  bay 
onets,  the  waving  of  bright  banners  bravely 
borne  from  many  a  hard-fought  field,  the  drum 
beat  and  bugle-call  to  battle,  the  steady  tramp 
of  confident  hosts  marching  under  one  man 's 
eye  to  the  place  which  one  man 's  voice  as 
signed  them.  Before  him  this  wide  expanse  of 
hill  and  vale  is  an  illuminated  page,  ready  to 
his  hand,  on  which  he  is  to  write  his  own  and 
his  country's  name  and  fate  in  letters  of  living 
light.  How  brilliant  the  names  that  cluster 
on  that  page !  —  Howard,  Hooker,  Thomas,  Rey 
nolds,  Sherman,  Sheridan,  Grant,  —  it  might 
seem  as  if  all  the  names  that  have  endurance 
in  them  are  gathered  there ;  but  as  noble  a 
valor  as  theirs  is  the  valor  which  has  no  name, 
—  the  courage,  the  patriotism,  the  simple,  stern 
sense  of  duty  that  could  expect  no  individual 
renown,  yet  just  the  same  put  all  things  to 
the  stake. 

Standing  here  one  can  more   readily  compre 
hend  the  plan  of  battle  than  the  possibility  of 


WOOL-GATHERING.  233 

its  execution.  With  the  enemy  posted  all  along 
the  summit  of  Missionary  Ridge,  with  batteries 
and  rifle-pits  at  its  base,  and  wherever  batteries 
and  rifle-pits  were  wanted,  how  could  our  sol 
diers  cross  the  plain,  charge  up  the  steep  hill 
sides  strewn  with  logs  and  stumps,  leap  the 
breastworks,  take  the  rifle-pits,  capture  the  bat 
teries  and  turn  his  own  guns  against  the  enemy  ? 
Yet  they  did  it.  There  are  twenty  explana 
tions  and  illustrations,  —  the  greater  difficulty 
of  receiving  than  of  making  a  charge,  the  im 
possibility  of  sighting  guns  at  a  rapidly  advan 
cing  object,  the  uncertainty  of  shot  and  shell, 
but  they  are  not  sufficient :  the  only  adequate 
answer  is,  they  did  it !  Common  sense,  math 
ematics,  natural  history,  and  mental  philosophy 
all  combine  to  declare  such  a  feat  an  impossi 
bility,  and  the  sole  circumstance  in  its  favor  is 
that  it  was  done. 

And  this  gruff  old  Lookout  proffers  a  harder 
problem  still.  By  nature  inaccessible,  by  skill 
impregnable,  by  will  overcome.  Its  surly  sides 
present  every  form  of  obstacle.  It  is  ridged 
and  rugged,  furrowed  with  ravines,  matted  with 
wild  undergrowth,  bristling  with  shrubs,  broken 


234  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

boughs,  and  limbs  of  dead  trees  forking  in 
every  direction,  rough  with  ledges  and  de 
tached  masses  of  rock,  and  so  steep  that  it  can 
be  ascended  only  by  literal  climbing,  and  some 
times  is  not  to  be  ascended  at  all.  The  crest 
is  a  solid  limestone  palisade  fronting  the  river, 
and  shelving  out  at  the  top,  far  beyond  a  per 
pendicular.  He  must  have  steady  nerves  who 
stands  at  its  edge ;  but,  sitting  or  lying  on  the 
rock,  one  can  peer  over  into  the  craggy,  de 
scending,  sharp-set  abyss  below.  Upon  the  crest 
is  a  huge  pile  of  rocky  irregular  slabs,  the 
upper  one  comparatively  thin  and  flat,  and 
spreading  out  beyond  the  lower  ones,  giving  an 
uncertain-looking  but  sufficiently  firm  foothold 
to  whoever  would  command  the  very  highest 
outlook.  Add  to  these  natural  defences  that 
the  mountain  was  lined  with  redoubt  and  re 
dan,  with  breastwork  and  rifle-pit  and  abatis ; 
and  every  earthwork  and  every  rifle-pit  alive 
with  plunging  fire  till  the  whole  mountain-wall 
was  a  wall  of  flame.  Now  then,  come  up,  men 
of  mortal  mould,  flesh  and  blood  and  nerve 
and  sinew,  hurl  yourselves  against  this  fiery  bar 
rier,  sweep  the  mountain  clean  of  rebels  and 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  235 

hold  it  for  country  and  for  freedom.  They  are 
coming.  To  the  foe  on  the  heights,  the  glit 
tering  hosts  on  the  plain  seem  but  marshalling 
for  holiday  review,  —  but  it  is  work,  and  not 
play,  they  have  in  hand  to-day.  They  are  com 
ing  from  the  East  and  from  the  West.  No  ob 
stacle  deters  them,  no  danger  daunts  them. 
Across  the  plain,  into  the  thickets,  up  the  cliffs, 
over  the  ledges,  marching,  rushing,  falling,  climb 
ing,  clutching  at  root  and  bough  and  boulder, 
breasting  the  fierce  torrent  of  bullets,  they  are 
swarming  up  the  mountain,  they  are  storming 
Lookout. 

It  is  another  Sinai  to  the  dwellers  on  the 
plain,  —  "thunders  and  lightnings,  and  a  thick 
cloud  upon  the  mount,  and  the  voice  of  the 
trumpet  exceeding  loud,  so  that  all  the  people 
that  was  in  the  camp  trembled."  The  cloud 
upon  the  mount  wraps  about  the  assailants  and 
veils  them  from  the  valley-gazers,  but  the  deaf 
ening  roar  of  battle  thundering  out  of  the  cloud 
tells  their  way.  Up  and  up  they  go,  into  the 
clouds,  beyond  the  clouds,  and  now  through  a 
rift  the  bright  banners  gleam  higher  and  al 
ways  higher  as  they  hurtle  against  the  foe,  driv- 


236  WOOL-GA  TIIER1NG. 

ing  him  before  them  by  the  fury  of  their  onset, 
and  hurling  him  headlong  over  the  dizzy  heights 
down  into  the  jaws  of  death.  Swelling  up  the 
eastern  slope  the  tide  of  victory  meets  another 
sea  surging  up  the  west,  the  mingling  waves 
roll  on  higher  and  higher  through  night  and 
darkness,  whelming  every  foe,  breaking  over 
every  barrier,  raging  around  the  mountain's 
crest  till  the  false  flag  is  swept  away  forever 
and  forever,  and  the  morning  sun  rises  upon 
the  banner  of  freedom,  waving  in  triumph  and 
beauty  from  the  peaceful  summit  of  Lookout. 

One  bright  day  four  years  ago,  so  close  upon 
these  hard-fought  battles  and  dearly  won  vic 
tories  that  our  blood  had  not  yet  lost  the  first 
thrill  of  their  story,  there  came  to  me  a  little 
missive  from  Chickamauga,  a  "  trifle  from  the 

grateful  hearts   of  the  th    Ohio,  —  put  into 

the  one  remaining  hand  of  a  brave,  maimed 
comrade  for  safe  carriage  to  a  loyal  State."  It 
was  a  Christmas  letter  from  an  unknown  sol 
dier,  speaking  for  himself  and  his  men  in  words 
that  would  shame  my  slender  desert  were  not 
their  warmth  evidently  borrowed  from  the  gen 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  237 

erous  sympathy  of  youth,  touching  all  things 
with  its  own  ardor,  rather  than  from  any  fire 
which  my  weak  hand  could  kindle.  Few  things, 
I  suppose,  are  more  grateful  to  a  writer,  espe 
cially  to  one  who  is  familiar  rather  with  the  salt 
than  the  sugar  of  criticism,  than  the 

"  Thanks  untraced  to  lips  unknown/' 

which  help  him  to  keep  heart  with  himself,  — 
not  always  the  easiest  thing  to  do  under  the 
constant  stress  of  temptation  to  fall  down  and 
worship  a  "  divine  despair."  But  when  words 
of  greeting  and  gratitude  come  from  out  the 
thunder-storm  of  battle,  it  confirms  one  to  one's 
self  with  a  faith  that,  for  the  time,  is  strength. 
Then  duty  puts  on  her  sternest  face,  and  will 
be  served  by  no  insincere  hands.  What  avails 
there  is  at  least  real.  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you  enough,  great-hearted  friends,  for  giving 
me  some  priceless  share  in  this  Titan  work  of 
yours  ?  "  Did  you  think,"  my  soldiers  said, 
"  as  you  read  of  the  charge  along  the  crest 
of  Lookout  Mountain,  that  some  of  your  words 
went  in  our  hearts  up  the  craggy  slope  to  that 
4  Battle  in  the  Clouds  '  ?  Did  you  know  the 
van  of  'iron  Hooker's'  bayonets  wore  a  fiercer 


238  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

gleam  for  what  you  had  written  ?  You  did  not 
know  what  friends  you  were  losing,  as  that 
shattered,  struggling  line  toiled  up  to  that  pesti 
lent  summit By  no  means  is  it  probable 

that  any  of  us  shall  ever  meet  you,  ....  but 
when  you  read  of  other  volleys  and  other 
charges  sweeping  down  still  more  of  the  re 
maining  handful  of  the th  Ohio,  please  re 
member  that  you  lost  friends  in  the  carnage 
of  that  hour."  O  friends  !  some  stronger  hand 
than  mine  shall  crown  your  brows  with  the 
laurel  so  worthily  won.  I  only  come,  a  rever 
ent  pilgrim  to  the  shrine  where  your  young  blood 
was  spilled.  I  press  with  tears  the  turf  you 
trod.  Over  me  leans  the  sky  that  smiled  that 
day  upon  your  living  and  wept  above  your 
dead.  Beneath  me  lies  the  rock  that  upbore 
your  feet  to  the  rapturous  joy  of  victory  and 
pillowed  your  heads  in  the  sore  stress  of  bat 
tle  sinking  to  iron  sleep.  But  I  know  that 
whether  you  still  walk  the  familiar  earth,  or 
whether  high  Heaven  holds  you,  the  blessings 
of  my  heart  within  me,  the  thanks  which  my 
lips  are  all  too  feeble  to  speak,  are  but  the 
pale  shadow  of  a  nation's  gratitude,  the  faint 
echo  of  a  people's  love. 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  239 

Slowly,  silently  descending  by  stumbling  zig 
zag  paths,  —  shall  we  visit  the  Seminary?  No! 
Well,  —  yes.  Our  soldiers  are  but  the  advance- 
guard  of  schools,  and  teaching  is  at  best  a 
milder  form  of  martyrdom.  I  know ;  yet  after 
the  uproar  of  battle  and  the  paeans  of  victory, 
a  b  ab  has  but  a  spiritless  sound.  Never  mind. 
We  will  do  our  duty  —  on  Lookout  Mountain 
if  nowhere  else.  Go  to,  therefore,  and  let  us 
get  up  an  interest  immediately. 

A  good  man  of  New  York,  Mr.  Christopher 
R.  Robert,  —  believing  with  the  Reverend  As 
sembly  of  Divines  at  Westminster  —  on  whom 
be  peace !  —  that,  the  covenant  being  made  with 
Adam,  not  only  for  himself,  but  for  his  poster 
ity,  all  mankind  descending  from  him  by  ordi 
nary  generation,  especially  the  poor  whites  of  the 
South,  sinned  in  him,  and  fell  with  him  in  his 
first  transgression  into  an  estate  of  sin  and  mis 
ery,  from  which  they  can  only  be  rescued  by 
God's  own  grace  shining  upon  their  heads  and 
into  their  hearts,  —  did  out  of  the  good  pleasure 
of  his  benevolent  heart  enter  into  contracts, 
covenants,  and  plans  to  concentrate  that  gra 
cious  illumination,  and  deliver  them  out  of  a 


240  WOOL-GA  THEFJNG. 

state  of  sin  and  misery.  To  which  end  he 
bought  five  hundred  acres  of  land  on  Mission- 

O 

ary  Ridge,  and  as  much  on  the  side  of  Lookout 
Mountain,  together  with  the  government  build 
ings  on  the  latter  site.  A  part  of  these  build 
ings  have  been  changed  from  hospitals  for 
wounded  bodies  into  hospitals  for  worse  wound 
ed  souls,  —  souls  that  have  been  marred  by 
years  and  generations  of  slavery,  and  its  camp- 
followers,  ignorance  and  meanness.  Approach 
ing  the  institution  in  the  rear,  it  has  still  a 
rather  barren  and  barrack  look,  but  in  front 
a  park  of  fine  trees  gives  a  charming  play 
ground  and  a  lovely  outlook.  The  buildings 
have  been  repaired  and  refitted  with  neatness 
and  freshness.  As  it  was  holiday-time,  we  could 
not  see  the  school  at  work,  but  the  arrange 
ments  made  for  the  comfort  and  convenience 
of  the  pupils  seemed  very  satisfactory.  The 
rooms  are  large,  airy,  and  well  open  to  sun 
shine.  The  school  was  founded  especially  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor  whites,  though  they 
do  not  avail  themselves  of  it  so  largely  as 
was  hoped.  It  was  used  more  by  the  better 
classes.  Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  the 


WOOL-GA  TILERINO.  241 

poor  whites  that  swarm  at  the  doors  of  the 
hovels  along  the  railroad  could  ever  get  into 
such  a  place  as  this  unless  they  are  brought 
in  bodily.  They  do  not  look  as  if  they  could 
form  any  conception  of  a  school,  of  its  uses,  or 
even  of  its  existence  ;  and  if  they  could,  how 
should  they  command  the  small  sum  necessary 
to  enter  it  ?  Still  this  school  is  an  entering 
wedge,  whose  power  for  good  it  would  not  be 
easy  to  over-estimate.  It  was  opened  on  the 
15th  of  May,  1866,  and  expects  to  form  a 
Freshman  collegiate  class  in  the  autumn  of 
186T.  It  has  a  Preparatory  Department,  an 
English  and  Business  Department  requiring  five 
years  for  completing  its  course,  though  permit 
ting  students  to  take  a  partial  course,  and  a 
Classical  Department  in  which  students  are  fit 
ted  for  college.  Music,  drawing,  and  the  mod 
ern  languages  are  also  taught.  The  buildings 
are  capable  of  receiving  three  hundred  pupils. 
As  yet,  I  believe,  they  have  but  about  fifty. 
The  enterprise  has  not  been  so  far  pecuniarily 
successful,  and  I  suppose  was  not  expected  to 
be,  considering  that  the  expense  of  a  twenty- 
weeks  session  is  but  ono  hundred  dollars. 
11  p 


242  WOOL-GATHERING. 

Some  of  the  "  Rules  and  Regulations "  are 
interesting,  as  compared  with  those  of  similar 
institutions  at  the  North.  Number  One  is  that 
"  No  profane  or  vulgar  language  is  permitted 
in  the  Institutions." 

Number  Two.  The  use  of  tobacco  is  not  al 
lowed  in  any  of  the  buildings  or  upon  the  ve 
randas. 

'  Number  Three.  No  student  will  be  allowed 
to  remain  in  the  Institutions  who  makes  use  of 
intoxicating  liquors. 

Number  Six.  Scholars  are  required  to  be 
neatly  dressed,  and  to  be  punctual  and  regular 
in  their  attendance  upon  the  exercises  of  the 
schools. 

Boys  and  girls  over  twelve  years  of  age  are  ad 
mitted.  Several  Rebel  and  Union  soldiers  have 
been  among  the  pupils.  All  the  teachers  are 
away  for  the  vacation,  but  the  business  man 
ager  and  the  matron,  Rev.  and  Mrs.  C.  C.  Car 
penter,  late  of  Caribou  Island,  are  keeping  castle, 
pleasing  themselves  doubtless  with  reproducing 
as  far  as  possible  the  lost  delights  of  Labrador 
climate  and  society  by  perching  on  the  mountain 
peaks  of  Tennessee.  As  far  as  one  may  judge 


WOOL-GATHERING.  243 

from  so  very  slight  a  survey,  the  school  is  wor 
thy  of  the  confidence  and  support  of  the  North, 

and  full  of  promise  to  the  South. 
i 

I  am  just  preparing  to  steal  out  of  my  room 
to  take  a  quiet  walk  by  myself,  and  get  a  face- 
to-face  glimpse  of  Chattanooga,  when  there  is 
a  knock  at  the  door,  and  there  stands  my  six- 
foot  soldier  with  his  well-filled  basket  of  clean 
clothes.  His  promptness  surprises  me,  and  my 
admiration  of  his  promptness  gratifies  him.  "  Is 
it  possible  your  wife  has  washed  and  ironed  all 
these  clothes  to-day?" — for  it  seems  nearly  as 
impracticable  a  thing  as  the  storming  of  Look 
out. 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  he  says  modestly,  his  whole  swart 
face  illuminated  with  smiles. 

"  Did  she  do  them  all  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss.     I  've  got  a  wife  that  is  a  wife." 

"  I  should  think  so.  And  they  are  very  nicely 
done  too." 

"  Yes,  I  told  her  she  must  do  her  prettiest  on 
yours." 

Now  I  do  not  suppose  he  did  tell  her  any  such 
thing,  there  being  no  reason  in  the  world  why 


244  WO  OL-GA  THERING. 

he  should,  but  then  it  was  very  civil  in  him  to 
say  so.  You  may  not  put  implicit  confidence 
in  everything  your  flatterers  tell  you,  but  it  is 
pleasant  to  know  that  people  care  enough  about 
pleasing  you  to  flatter  you.  Attempting  to  pay 
him,  I  find  I  must  have  a  bill  changed.  He 
cannot  change  it,  nor  the  landlady,  nor  the 
clerk;  so  I  propose  to  go  out  with  him  into 
some  of  the  neighboring  shops,  and  then  I  ad 
jure  him  to  take  the  money  home  and  give  it 
to  his  wife  with  my  thanks  and  respects.  He 
promises  me  faithfully  that  he  will,  only  he 
is  not  going  directly  home.  It  occurs  to  me, 
"  Why  not  go  and  pay  her  myself?  I  should 
like  to  tell  her  how  highly  I  think  of  her  work. 
Do  you  suppose  she  would  object  to  my  paying 
her  a  visit  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  she  'd  be  very  much  pleased.  Noth 
ing  she  likes  better  than  to  do  things  for  people 
and  have  it  please  them." 

"  How  far  away  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Not  a  great  ways,  —  half  a  mile  perhaps,  or 
three  quarters." 

"  You  can  show  me  the  way  so  that  I  can  find 
it  without  trouble  ?  " 


WOOL-GATHERING.  245 

"  I  Ve  got  through  my  day's  work,  Miss,  and 
I  can  go  with  you  myself,  just  as  well  as  not." 
So  we  walk  off  together  amicably,  and  he  says  in 
a  low  voice,  half  to  himself,  "  She  '11  be  mighty 
proud  to  have  you  come  and  see  her." 

My  companion  justifies  my  instinctive  good 
opinion  of  him.  His  manners  are  gentle,  his 
voice  is  low  and  smooth,  and  his  talk  intel 
ligent.  He  tells  me  that  he  is  a  freedman, 
that  he  used  to  live  in  Georgia,  but  left  his 
master  and  followed  Mr.  Sherman's  army,  and 
has  never  seen  his  master  since.  He  went  first 
to  Atalanta,  and  then  came  up  to  Chattanooga. 

"  Did  your  wife  come  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  she  lived  with  another  master  and 
could  n't  get  away.  I  did  n't  know  not'in'  what 
become  of  her.  Fust  I  knowed  a  party  of  fugi 
tives  said  she  was  comin'  up  on  de  cars.  Soon  's 
I  heard  of  her,  I  went  and  got  her." 

"  Was  she  freed  by  the  army?  " 

"  No,  she  runned  away  from  her  Mas'r  too, 
and  took  the  boy  wid  her.  But  de  Rebels  got 
hold  of  him  and  carried  him  back  thirteen  miles, 
but  he  got  away  from  'em  in  de  night  an'  run 
back  to  his  moder.  She  left  everyting,  —  bed 


246  WOOL-GATHERING. 

an'  beddin',  —  did  n't  bring  notin'  wid  her  only 
three  dresses.  We  scraped  a  bed  an'  a  few 
tings  togeder,  and  managed  to  get  along." 

"  How  old  was  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Leben  years,  Miss." 

"  He  must  be  a  very  bright  boy." 

"  Yes,  he  's  a  good  boy." 

"  And  I  hope  you  will  send  him  to  school  and 
give  him  a  good  education." 

"  Yes,  my  wife  an'  me,  we 's  goin'  to  give  the 
boy  larnin',  and  then  I  tell  him  he  must  work 
an'  be  civil  an'  well-mannered,  an'  that's  all 
that's  nec'ary." 

"  Do  you  have  regular  work  yourself?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss.  I  'se  employed  on  the  railroad. 
I  get  forty  dollars  a  month.  I'se  been  a  rail-1 
road  man  now  two  years." 

"  That  is  very  good  wages." 

"Yes,  but  everyting's  very  high.  I  pay  ten 
dollars  a  month  rent,  an'  it  takes  about  all  there 
is  left  to  live  on.  I  don't  get  much  ahead. 
Took  a  heap  of  money  to  get  started." 

"  Do  the  white  people  trouble  you  at  all  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  no.  Dey  can't  do  notin'  cause  dere  's 
de  sogers." 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  247 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  would  harm  you  if  the 
soldiers  were  removed  ?  " 

"  Good  many  people  roun'  here  that  would  be 
cuttin'  up  if  dey  was  away." 

"  4  Cutting  up,'  —  how  ?" 

"  Well,  they  'd  be  down  on  us  !  " 

The  variations  in  his  pronunciation  are  I  be 
lieve  his,  and  not  mine.  I  distinctly  remember 
certain  words  in  which  th  was^  changed  into  d. 
Others  I  remember  with  the  proper  sound,  and 
give  them  so.  It  may  be  that  his  conversation 
represents  a  transition  state  in  his  education. 

The  road  is  getting  rather  rough  and  wild, 
seems  indeed  to  be  chiefly  railroad,  and  I  fancy 
we  have  already  gone  our  three  quarters  of  a 
mile.  He  says  that  we  are  now  pretty  near 
the  house,  but  he  seems  to  be  a  little  absent- 
minded,  and  finally  stops  and  says :  "I  will 
speak  of  it.  Miss,  you  must  excuse  me,  — •  I 
ony  jess  thought  of  it,  —  I  ought  to  have  told 
you, — but  I  noticed  you  come  away  and  left 
your  door  open." 

"  Why,  so  I  did.  I  forgot.  However,  I  don't 
believe  any  one  will  go  in." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  they  will.     Nobody  roun' 


248  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

to  see  it  ony  me  an'  the  lady,  but  I  thought  I 
would  jess  mention  it." 

Here  it  occurs  to  me  that  I  have  left  my  hotel 
without  anybody's  knowing  where  I  am,  or  whith 
er  I  am  going,  or  that  I  am  gone  at  all ;  in 
deed,  on  the  first  two  points  I  have  but  a  slender 
stock  of  information  myself.  I  trust  this  is  an 
honest  man.  I  steal  a  sidelong  glance  up  into 
his  face,  and  am  shamed  out  of  my  momentary 
distrust.  It  is  radiant  with  gentleness  and  hon 
esty  and  satisfaction  and  modesty.  Let  us  de 
viate  into  politics. 

"  Do  the  colored  people  feel  much  interest  in 
the  question  of  suffrage  ?  " 

"  Well,  some  does  and  some  does  n't.  They 
don't  say  a  great  deal  about  it." 

"  How  do  you  look  upon  it  yourself?  " 

"  Seems  like  there  ain't  no  hurry  about  it.  I 
think  they  better  wait  till  they  get  more  larnin'." 

"  If  they  should  be  allowed  to  vote  how  do 
you  think  they  would  vote  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  with  a  decidedly  derisive  laugh, 
"they'd  vote  as  they  thought"; — then  as  an 
unnecessary  appendix,  "Of  ccurse  they'd  vote 
wid  de  Yankees." 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  249 

Then  we  turn  into  something  more  like  a  street, 
and  soon  he  opens  for  me  a  gate,  saying,  "  Here  's 
whar  I  live."  It  is  a  low,  broad  house,  without 
pretensions  to  beauty,  but  sufficiently  comfortable. 
"  No,  not  de  big  house.  Dis  whar  de  lady  lives 
who  owns  my  house."  We  go  past  the  land 
lady's  house,  around  into  the  back  yard,  and 
come  to  his  own  dwelling.  It  looks  like  a  shed 
or  porch  of  the  larger  house,  but  is  white 
washed  and  well  kept.  A  part  of  the  yard  is 
hard  and  clean-swept,  and  a  part  is  devoted  to 
gardening.  The  door  stands  open,  leading  di 
rectly  to  their  living-room,  where  his  wife  ap 
pears  resting  from  her  labors.  Our  introduction 
is  historical  rather  than  fashionable.  She  is  a 
young  woman,  not  so  prepossessing  as  her  hus 
band,  for  whom  she  evidently  has  a  great  re 
spect,  not  to  say  reverence.  She  seems  like  a 
little  girl,  almost  too  bashful  to  speak,  but  she 
has  a  bright  smile,  and  she  presently  opens  to 
me,  and  we  speedily  get  on  terms  friendly, 
not  to  say  intimate,  discussing  her  boy,  her 
husband,  her  skill,  and  the  beauties  of  Chat 
tanooga.  The  room  is  the  perfection  of  neat 
ness.  It  has  a  look  of  being  thick-set  with 
11* 


250  WOOL-GATHERING. 

household  implements  and  other  trumpery,  — • 
braided  mats  among  the  rest,  though  of  course 
I  make  a  point  of  not  seeing  anything. 

When  I  rise  to  go,  the  husband  insists  on  ac 
companying  me  to  show  the  way,  and  as  we  are 
leaving  the  yard  he  says  apologetically,  "  She 
ain't  a  very  fancy  woman,  but  she's  smart,  and 
you  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

Oh  !  but  then  do  I  not  wax  rhetorical,  extol 
ling  not  only  her  virtues,  but  her  charms ;  and 
it  is  no  fault  of  mine  if  he  does  not  go  home 
marvelling  at  the  jewel  he  has  so  long  pos 
sessed  all  unknown.  Indeed,  I  half  fancy  he 
thinks  he  must  somehow  have  introduced  me 
to  the  wrong  woman,  but  he  does  not  stint 
his  praises.  "  She  ain't  nothin'  for  company,'* 
he  says.  "  She  been  here  now  fourteen  months 
and  she  has  n't  taken  tea  out  once.  She  don't 
go  nowhar,  only  to  church." 

"  Is  she  a  member  of  the  church  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  's  been  a  member  of  the  Methodist 
church  eighteen  years." 

"  Do  the  colored  people  here  go  to  church  as  a 
general  thing  ?  " 

"  Very  much  same  as  't  is  wid  de  whites. 
Some  goes  and  some  does  n't." 


WOOL-GATHERING.  251 

"  Do  you  think  they  generally  use  their  free 
dom  ?  Do  they  behave  well  ?  " 

"  Some  of  'em  is  industrious  and  behaves  well, 
and  some  of  'em  is  lazy  and  steals,  and  is  sent 
to  the  penitentiary.  Dere  was  one  ony  little 
while  ago.  That 's  what  disheartens  me  most 
of  anything.  I  talk  to  'em  an'  try  to  make 
'em  do  better." 

And  then  what  if  I  give  him  some  encourag 
ing  assurances,  and  a  little  friendly  suggestion, 
and  just  a  spice  of  flattery  founded  on  fact,  in 
return  for  his  civility ;  and  he  offers  me  un 
limited  service  whenever  I  return  to  Chatta 
nooga,  and  we  part  like  Pip  and  Joe  Gargery, 
"  us  ever  the  best  of  friends,"  —  does  it  not 
all  come  into  the  general  plan  of  Reconstruc 
tion? 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Fame  Waiting  a  Name.  —  Officers'  Car.  —  Topsy  by  Night.  — 
Believing  Burnside.  —  Knoxville.  —  Comfortable  Reflections 
for  a  Besieged  Town.  —  Holding  on.  —  Fort  Saunders.  —  Re 
turn  to  Knoxville.  —  The  Dead.  —  The  Living.  —  New  Eng 
land. —  A  Plan  of  Reconstruction.  —  Pauperism  North  and 
South.  —  Hatred,  its  Causes  and  Cures.  —  Playing  off  the 
South  and  West  against  each  other. 


rise  at  midnight  to  march  to  the 
|  relief  of  General  Burnside  in  be- 
leamiered  Knoxville.  Our  Household 
Friend  is  at  hand  to  speed  the  parting  guest ; 
and  as  we  exchange  words,  she  is  for  the  first 
time  curious  in  names.  "  Smith  ?  Smith  ?  " 
She  lingers  on  the  novel  sound,  as  if  calling 
up  from  the  vasty  deep  of  her  memory  some 
familiar  thought  to  associate  with  the  strange 
fact.  It  isn't  the  Smith  that  writes?  O  no! 
The  Smiths  never  write.  They  simply  make 
their  mark.  She  is  but  half  convinced,  and 
affirms  dubiously  and  interrogatively  that  she 


WOOL-GA  TIIERiNG.  253 

has  heard  of  a  Smith  who  writes  beautiful 
pieces  !  But  we  know  no  Smith  who  can  lay- 
claim  to  such  distinction,  and,  bidding  her  a 
grateful  good-by,  we  go  out  into  the  starry 
darkness.  Lookout  rises  grand  and  gloomy, 
giving  no  sign  of  that  awful  night  which  belt 
ed  his  form  with  fire,  when  victory  thundered 
from  his  sides  with  a  thousand  tongues  of  flame, 
and  disaster  waved  to  disaster  from  the  signal 
torch  on  his  crest. 

Comfortable  quarters  are  secured  in  the  "  offi 
cers'  car,"  which  is  provided  with  long  sofas, 
where,  for  aught  I  know,  many  campaigns  may 
have  been  thought  out  before  they  were  fought 
out,  during  the  four  years'  war.  One  of  these 
sofas  is  soon  occupied  by  a  young  man,  an  in 
valid,  whom  his  father  is  taking  home,  pale, 
emaciated,  too  deathly  sick  to  utter  a  word. 
Our  medicine-chest  is  produced,  and  his  failing 
strength  fortified  from  the  brandy-flask,  which 
thus  vindicates  its  right  to  be.  His  father 
watches  with  restless,  painful  anxiety  his  flick 
ering  life,  in  the  absorbing  fear  that  it  may 
not  outlast  the  long  journey.  At  one  of  the 
small  way-stations  comes  in  a  little  olive-hued 


254  WOOL-GATHERING. 

girl,  with  wild,  jet-black,  unearthly  eyes,  all  alight 
with  a  sort  of  strange  mockery  and  impish  laugh 
ter.  A  little  creature  it  is,  who  should  be  sleep 
ing  soundly  in  her  bed,  instead  of  vending  hot 
coffee  through  the  cars  at  this  time  of  night. 
I  wonder  if  it  is  not  this  preternatural  wake- 
fulness  that  has  struck  into  her  eyes  and  into 
her  soul,  and  inspired  her  to  see  and  scorn  the 
satire  of  her  life.  "  Running  about  alone  all 
slight,  Topsy !  Why,  you  must  be  a  little  owl.'* 

"  Yes  'm.  I  'spect  that  's  what 's  the  mat 
ter  !"  is  the  quick,  pert  reply,  with  a  flash  of 
the  wild  eyes,  and  a  saucy  toss  of  the  small 
.head. 

We  rush  on  through  the  darkness,  over  the 
same  road  that  Burnside  took,  backing  into 
Knoxville  with  his  face  to  the  foe,  and  fighting 
as  he  went,  —  over  the  same  road  that  Sher 
man  marched,  and  by  sheer  force  of  his  name 
ind  his  numbers  sent  Longstreet  flying  from 
Knoxville,  with  Burnside's  cavalry  at  his  heels, 
[n  the  darkness  we  fight  our  battles  o'er  again. 
Flow  grandly  our  soldier  met  in  his  mountain 
fastnesses  the  exigency  of  the  time  !  What  stress 
of  fate  is  in  the  words  of  the  imperturbable 


WOOL-GATHERING.  255 

Grant,  "I  do  not  know  how  to  impress  on  you 
the  necessity  of  holding  on  to  East  Tennessee 
in  strong  enough  terms."  And  hold  on  he  did, 
with  a  grip  that  neither  long  siege  nor  sharp 
assault  could  loosen. 

To  Knoxville,  city  of  the  mountains,  envi 
roned  by  frowning  forts,  and  forever  memorable 
for  that  heroic  and  successful  defence.  But 
what  with  friend  and  what  with  foe,  Knox 
ville  has  had  but  sorry  fortunes.  Fire  and 
sword  have  made  wretched  work  for  the  moun 
tain  town.  The  necessity  and  the  wantonness 
of  war  have  alike  ravaged  here.  In  the  sub 
urbs  the  axe  has  turned  the  forest  into  a 
cleared  field,  and  at  one  end  of  the  city  fire 
has  wellnigh  made  a  clean  sweep.  When  a 
great  cause  is  marching  on,  I  suppose  there 
must  be  minor  irregularities.  Indeed,  war  it 
self  is  a  monstrous  irregularity,  and  all  lesser 
ones  crowd  to  its  banners.  If  the  individual 
withers  a  little  under  the  infliction,  he  can  con 
sole  himself  with  reflecting  that  the  world  is 
more  and  more.  So  when  troops  are  camp 
ing  in  your  door-yard,  pulling  down  your  neat 
fences,  your  fine  trees,  your  pretty  shrubbery 


256  WOOL-GATHERING. 

to  boil  their  coffee  with,  and  boiling  it  in  your 
kitchen,  arid  sleeping  in  your  bed-rooms,  bor 
rowing  your  knives  and  forks  and  napkins  and 
towels  with  charming  frankness  and  frankly  for 
getting  to  return  them,  it  may  perhaps  salve 
your  wounds  to  know  that  your  hardware  and 
haberdashery  are  not  going  to  swell  the  gains 
of  some  ignoble  thief,  but  to  furnish  creature 

O  ' 

comforts  for  the  great  cause  of  human  freedom 
and  human  progress  !  Besides,  our  troops  were 
unselfish,  and  when  they  had  levelled  the  pal 
ing  of  a  loyal  citizen,  would  generously  offer  to 
share  their  hard-earned  firewood  with  him  ! 

We  go  round  about  Knoxville,  telling  her  tow 
ers  and  marking  well  her  bulwarks.  We  pass 
through  her  lines  of  defence,  still  well  defined. 
We  see  the  remnants  of  the  barricades  that 
stretched  across  her  country  roads.  Line  upon 
line  of  defence,  precept  upon  precept  of  resist 
ance,  but  no  point  of  surrender.  Burnside  was 
holding  on !  Driven  from  one  position,  the 
troops  were  to  fall  back  to  another.  And  in 
the  final  issue  they  were  to  withdraw  into  the 
city  and  make  every  house  a  fortress.  But  it 
did  not  come  to  that.  Thank  Heaven  !  it  never 
came  to  that. 


WO  OL-GA  THE  RING.  257 

We  drive  out  to  Fort  Saunders,  where  was 
met  the  fierce  assault,  the  last  desperate  resort 
of  Long-street's  failing  force.  Fort  Saunders, 

O  O  ' 

named  in  honor  of  the  brave  young  Ken- 
tuckian  who,  in  front  of  the  fort,  at  the  front 
of  all  danger,  received  his  death-wound,  and 
was  borne  hence  to  his  midnight  burial.  We 
climb  the  barren  "  hill  to  the  fort,  a  rough 
earthwork,  crumbling  already  to  ruins,  —  only 
a  wall  of  sods,  a  ditch,  a  bastion,  —  can  it  be 
that  a  fiery  tide  of  life  and  death  so  lately 
seethed  around  it  ?  Standing  on  the  wall, 
Knoxville,  with  her  battlements  of  mountains, 
her  hills,  her  woods,  her  waters,  and  the  whole 
plan  of  siege,  attack,  and  defence,  is  revealed. 
The  marks  of  battle  surround  us.  Large  and 
elegant  houses  are  standing  near,  from  whose 
grounds  every  vestige  of  shrubbery  has  disap 
peared.  Broad  and,  shapely  terraces  adorn  the 
hillside,  from  which  the  house  has  been  burned 
to  give  our  guns  good  range.  Opposite  on 
the  far  horizon  we  can  just  discern  a  house, 
from  which  it  was  discovered  that  sharpshoot 
ers  were  annoying  our  men,  and  the  next 
moment  a  shell  went  crashing  through  its  tur- 

Q 


258  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ret  and  the  annoyance  ceased.  We  have  heard 
of  the  wonderful  range  of  our  guns,  but  here 
I  see  the  distance  and  do  not  more  than  half 
believe  it.  The  rebel  camping-grounds  lie  be 
fore  us,  hundreds  of  acres  of  timber  felled 
for  range  and  breastworks,  miles  of  intrench- 
inents  stretching  right  and  left.  Every  hill  has 
its  fort,  every  valley  its  rifle-pits,  and  every 
wood  its  regiment,  till  it  seems  as  if  the  whole 
earth  was  fitted  up  for  a  slaughter-house. 

Out  from  yonder  woods  up  this  hill  came  the 
valiant  soldiers,  rebels  but  Americans,  brave  in  a 
bad  cause,  —  three  brigades  of  picked  men,  ad 
vancing  swiftly  to  storm  the  fort  in  the  twilight 
of  the  dawn.  They  had  planned  a  surprise, 
but  our  men  were  ready.  The  fort  was  manned 
by  eighty-nine  men,  —  another  says  fifty,  —  but 
at  any  rate  the  garrison  was  fearfully  small,  and 
the  rear  of  the  fort  almost  undefended.  On 
the  outside  of  the  ditch  that  yawns  at  our  feet 
as  we  stand  upon  the  bastion  was  stretched  a 
small  wire  about  the  size  of  a  telegraph  wire, 
and  perhaps  a  foot  from  the  ground.  In  the 
darkness  it  would  not  be  seen,  nor  at  any  time 
would  it  be  likely  to  be  discerned  in  the  fury 


WOOL-GATHERING.  259 

of  attack.  The  enemy  rushed  up  the  hill,  till 
within  almost  grappling  distance,  and  then  our 
ranks  opened  upon  them  a  deadly  fire.  They 
wavered,  they  fell,  right  and  left,  but  still  they 
rushed  on,  only  in  the  last  hot,  eager  moment 
to  stumble  over  the  treacherous  wire  headlong 
into  the  ditch.  Even  the  gravity  of  the  occa 
sion  hardly  hides  the  ridiculousness  of  the  de 
vice.  It  seems  like  a  leaf  out  of  Knickerbocker's 
History,  this  Yankee  notion  of  tripping  up  an 
army,  but  it  worked  fatally  well  in  fact.  The 
men  had  made  up  their  minds  doubtless  to  leap 
into  the  ditch,  but  pitching  in  head-foremost 
they  had  not  counted  on.  The  guns  could 
not  of  course  be  trained  upon  them,  but  shells 
were  lighted  from  cigars  and  flung  into  the 
writhing,  struggling,  raging  mass.  It  is  hor 
rible  to  think  of,  but  as  a  stratagem  its  success 
was  complete.  The  fall,  the  surprise,  the  con 
fusion  were  too  much.  They  would  have  faced, 
they  did  face,  known  dangers  unflinching,  but 
this  unexpected  and  inexplicable  shock  overset 
them  morally  as  well  as  physically.  Had  they 
followed  the  ditch  around  to  the  rear  of  the 
fort,  its  capture  would  have  been  imminent,  but 


260  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

this  was  not  to  be.  The"  incessant,  fierce  fire 
left  them  no  breathing-space  to  collect  their 
scattered  senses.  The  strange  horror  and  the 
frightful  carnage  together  appalled  them,  and 
the  day  was  lost.* 

But  there  were  deeds  of  hopeless  daring. 
Some  gained  the  ramparts  only  to  meet  cer 
tain  death.  Two  men  stood  before  a  gun,  flung 
their  arms  around  it,  and  demanded  a  surren 
der.  The  gun  itself  replied,  and  they  made  no 
second  summons.  Once,  twice,  thrice  the  Rebel 
flag  was  planted  on  the  parapet,  and  instantly 

*  A  soldier  tells  the  story  thus :  — 

"  But  little  did  old  Longstreet  know 

The  boys  he  had  to  meet  him ; 
They  fought  on  old  Virginia's  soil, 

At  Bull  Run  and  Antietam. 
The  Western  boys  from  Illinois 

And  Buckeyes  won't  knock  under ; 
And  Yankee  steel,  it  made  them  squeal, 

And  Old  Kentuck,  by  thunder  ! 

"  The  Rebels  made  a  bold  advance, 

To  bag  us  they  intended  ; 
And  up  the  hill  on  double-quick 
The  chivalry  ascended. 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  261 

torn  away.  The  hillside  was  strewn  with  the 
dead  and  dying  men.  They  dropped  back  from 
the  ramparts.  They  choked  the  ditch.  The 
earth  was  drenched  with  blood.  O  God,  grant 
our  land  may  never  see  such  sight  again !  But 
Burnside  must  hold  on. 

Scarcely  a  spot  around  Knoxville  that  has  not 
its  treasured  memories,  and  many  generations 
will  listen  to  the  story  of  her  wild  warfare. 
The  sufferings,  the  devotion,  and  the  courage 
of  East  Tennessee  form  no  inconsiderable  chap 
ter  in  the  history  of  the  great  rebellion,  —  and 
the  armies  of  the  Tennessee,  the  Cumberland, 
and  the  Ohio  have  left  a  glorious  record  on 

Our  battery's  fire,  and  Burnside's  wire, 

It  caused  them  for  to  stumble, 
And  head  o'er  heels  into  the  ditch 

Like  '  bullfrogs  '  they  did  tumble. 

"  Our  boys  did  quickly  on  them  pile, 

Amid  the  great  confusion, 
Resolved  that  they  should  pay  the  cost 

For  such  a  bold  intrusion  ; 
And  if,  my  friends,  I  have  received 

The  proper  information, 
The  Rebs  will  never  charge  again 

That  charged  on  that  occasion." 


262  WOOL-GATHERING. 

her  rocks.  Besides  its  associations,  the  town 
has  its  own  attractions  in  the  rugged  natural 
beauty  of  the  surrounding  scenery.  Fort  Lee 
affords  an  exceedingly  interesting  landscape.  It 
overlooks  the  intervening  ridges,  takes  in  the 
mountains  on  both  sides,  and  commands  the  val 
ley  up  and  down  as  far  as  eye  can  reach.  From 
Fort  Haskell  we  have  another  magnificent  view, 
—  a  great  sweep  of  purple  mountains,  the  near 
green  hills,  the  splendid  sunset  sky  and  river, 
and  Knoxville  nestling  in  the  valley  in  the  love 
ly  enchantment  of  distance.  But  Linden  saw 
another  sight,  for  in  this  lonely  fort,  far  from 
houses  or  roads,  accessible  only  by  sheer  climb 
ing,  crouches  a  white  family,  two  women  and 
a  child,  with  ashen  faces  that  haunt  me  yet. 
This  is  home.  Their  clothing  is  of  the  scan 
tiest,  there  is  no  palpable  shelter  except  the 
powder-magazine,  and  they  have  only  the  im 
plements  of  the  rudest  domestic  life.  Unless 
the  war  helps  them,  what  shall  recompense  us 
for  the  war  ? 

Knoxville,  like  Nashville  and  Chattanooga,  has 
its  soldiers'  cemetery,  rows  upon  rows  of  graves, 
more  than  twenty-five  hundred,  each  with  its 


WOOL-GATHERING.  263 

white  slab  at  the  head,  marked  with  the  name 
of  him  who  lies  under  its  shadow,  or  sometimes 
bearing  only  the  one  word  " Unknown"  Un 
known  yet  well  known.  In  their  place  are 
rows  of  graves,  with  the  little  word  "  Rebel " 
under  the  name,  distinguished  by  no  other  mark 
from  the  neighboring  graves.  I  am  glad  to  see 
this,  for  so  it  suits  a  great  nation.  In  war  he 
who  lifts  his  hand  against  his  country  is  her 
foe,  whether  of  her  own  or  foreign  blood;  but 
when  the  fighting  has  ceased  they  are  all  her 
children  again,  —  rebellious  children,  but  her  own. 
Let  the  bones  of  the  dead  be  gathered  with 
great  sorrow  and  laid  decently  in  their  last  rest 
ing-place.  If  there  must  be  reviling  and  re 
venge  and  petty  spite,  let  it  not  come  from  the 
nation  which  only  calmness  befits,  and  compos 
ure,  and  an  inexhaustible  beneficence. 

And  so  many  of  these  knew  not  what  they 
did.  I  think  the  poverty  and  the  misery  of 
the  South  —  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  in  the 
South  —  make  a  deeper  impression  on  the  trav 
eller  than  anything  else.  I  do  not  know  how 
much  may  be  the  effect  of  the  war,  but  I 
fancy  a  great  deal  dates  farther  back  than  that. 


264  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

However  wasted  the  land  may  be  by  the  tramp 
of  armies,  it  is  no  four  years'  war  that  has  spread 
the  dull  pallor  over  the  faces  I  have  seen.  The 
wretched  cabins  bear  indubitable  marks  of  time. 
It  is  habit,  not  a  sudden  absence  of  occupation, 
that  fills  the  rickety  stoops  of  rickety  taverns 
with  unclean,  idle  men,  and  sets  in  every 
door-way  female  figures  that  have  no  vestige 
of  female  comeliness.  I  do  not  think  the  peo 
ple  of  the  North  have  at  any  time,  before,  dur 
ing,  or  since  the  war,  harbored  hatred  towards 
the  people  of  the  South ;  but  if  ever  so  bit 
ter  or  revengeful  feelings  had  been  engendered 
by  the  strife,  there  needs  but  a  journey  through 
the  South  to  drive  it  all  away.  There  can  be 
no  resentment,  no  indignation,  nothing  but  the 
sorest  pity,  towards  such  poverty  as  we  see, 
such  ignorance  as  we  infer.  What  could  these 
know  of  loyalty  or  duty  ?  They  were  loyal  to 
their  highest.  I  only  wonder  that  the  South 
could  have  drawn  its  valiant  armies  from  such 
a  rural  population  as  hers.  Human  nature 
must  be  tenacious  of  its  nobility  if  it  can  sur 
vive  such  degradation,  —  if  endurance  and  self- 
sacrifice  and  every  form  of  heroism  can  come 


WOOL-GATHERING.  265 

out  of  these  Nazareths.  We  know  that  nobil 
ity  does  survive,  yet  there  is  a  fearful  waste. 
We  see  now  how  Andersonville  was  possible. 

If  there  could  only  be  some  way  devised  by 
which  these  people  could  know  that  there  is 
any  other  state  of  society  than  their  own,  — 
could  know  how  differently  live  the  farmers  and 
artisans  of  the  North.  Even  the  excessive  toil 
and  care  of  New  England  are  more  hopeful 
than  this  idleness  and  unthrift.  We  laugh  at 
our  staring  white  cottages,  and  they  are  star 
ing,  —  but  the  neat  little  white  cottages  with 
their  green  yards  and  trim  fences  are  pleas- 
anter  to  the  eye  than  comfortless  cabins.  There 
is  no  cause  for  boasting.  We  are  one  coun 
try,  and  whatever  keeps  the  South  down  keeps 
the  North  down  too.  Nothing  is  injurious  to 
one  section  that  is  not  before  the  end,  and  long 
before  the  end,  injurious  to  the  other. 

My  plan  of  reconstruction  would  be  to  gather 
the  poor  whites  together  and  send  them  on  an 
excursion  through  our  New  England  villages, 
show  them  the  houses  inside  and  out,  the  dai 
ries,  the  larders,  the  clothes-presses,  the  tables, 
the  sitting-rooms,  the  gardens  and  farms  of  the 
12 


266  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

common  people,  and  say  to  them :  "  This  is  the 
very  worst  we  desire  for  you.  All  the  sto 
ries  you  have  heard  of  our  designs  of  invasion 
and  desecration  and  subjugation  are  falsehoods. 
Through  the  whole  North  there  is  but  one  wish, 
—  even  the  wildest  Radicals  and  Fanatics,  wise 
or  unwise,  wish  nothing  worse  than  this,  —  that 
you  should  have  every  comfort  and  every  free 
dom  that  we  possess,  and  that  from  this  starting- 
point  North  and  South  should  press  forward  to 
gether." 

Some  such  free  intermingling  of  section  with 
section  is  necessary  to  correct  the  mistakes  into 
which  they  have  fallen.  There  are  so  many 
men  —  not  so  very  many,  perhaps,  but  what 
there  are  make  a  prodigious  din  —  who  de 
sign  and  desire  only  their  own  personal  aggran 
dizement,  and  whose  selfishness  leads  them  to 
believe  the  lie,  that  what  is  worst  for  others 
can  be  made  best  for  themselves,  —  who  there 
fore  find  their  account  in  stirring  up  strife  and 
keeping  alive  the  embers  of  hatred,  —  that  I  see 
no  hope  unless  the  people  can  be  somehow  de 
tached  from  their  false  guides,  and  prove  for 
themselves  how  true  and  hearty  is  the  good-will 


WOOL-GATHERING.  267 

which  the  heart  of  the  North  bears  the  South. 
Mistaken  we  may  often  be  in  our  measures,  but 
if  once,  in  spite  of  false  politicians,  the  great 
body  of  the  Southern  people  could  be  convinced 
that  the  great  body  of  the  Northern  people  wish 
them  only  good,  it  seems  to  me  that  wise  meas 
ures  could  be  speedily  agreed  upon  on  both  sides. 
Here  is  a  Southern  paper,  which  affirms  that 
according  to  the  census  one  in  forty  and  a  half  of 
the  entire  population  of  New  England  are  pau 
pers,  and  one  in  one  hundred  and  seventy-three 
criminals ;  while  in  the  six  States  of  Missis 
sippi,  Tennessee,  Alabama,  Georgia,  North  Car 
olina,  and  Virginia,  one  in  four  hundred  and 
fifty-one  are  paupers,  and  one  in  three  thou 
sand  four  hundred  and  twenty-three  criminals. 
This  state  of  things  is  held  up  as  a  "  damaging 
contrast  to  our  enlightened  New  England,"  and 
the  inference  drawn  is  that  the  six  Southern 
States  are  by  so  much  in  advance  of  the  six 
Northern  States  in  point  of  comfort  and  mo 
rality.  Now  I  suppose  that  no  Northern  man 
is  deceived  by  this  showing,  but  I  can  conceive 
that  a  very  large  part  of  the  South  should  be. 
The  true  significance  of  the  facts  will  hardly 


268  WOOL-GATHERING. 

reach  the  ears  that  have  heard  their  false  appli 
cation.  What  we  want  is,  that  the  truth  of 
facts  should  somehow  be  brought  to  their  heads, 
and  the  truth  of  feelings  to  their  hearts  ;  that 
thus  their  ambition  and  aspiration  should  be 
touched,  and  themselves  awakened  to  the  possi 
bility  of  a  better  life.  We  need  of  all  things 
to  win  the  good- will  of  the  South.  It  is  no 
easy  task.  An  immense  crop  of  hatred  has 
been  springing  up  for  years.  It  was  sedulously 
cultivated  during  the  war,  and  it  must  be  very 
long  before  it  will  entirely  disappear.  Our  part 
is  to  exercise  the  utmost  forbearance.  Our 
strength  and  courage  and  determination  w^ere 
abundantly  proved  by  the  war ;  there  can  be 
no  suspicion  of  weakness,  or  cowardice,  or  luke 
warm  love  of  justice,  or  dignity,  in  forbearing 
now.  Our  papers  sometimes  quote  fierce,  wild, 
hateful,  and  hating  words  from  Southern  jour 
nals.  I  cannot  see  the  good  of  it.  Why  not 
take  it  for  granted  that  they  do  hate  us  bitterly, 
and  then  let  it  alone  ?  While  I  do  not  think 
there  is  a  particle  of  revenge  in  the  bosom  of 
the  North,  I  think  there  is  a  certain  impatience 
and  vexation  at  the  persistent  hostile  and  inap- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  269 

peasable  attitude  of  the  South.  But  the  indul 
gence  of  such  sentiments  is  unworthy  both  of 
our  education  and  our  religion.  The  Southern 
people  misunderstand.  They  know  not  what 
they  do.  If  our  enlightenment  be  indeed  great 
er  than  theirs,  we  ought  to  show  it  in  broader 
and  more  generous  souls.  If  we  are  provoked 
into  recrimination,  we  lower  to  the  level  of  those 
who  give  the  provocation. 

We  were  victorious,  and  on  that  account  also  we 
ought  to  cultivate  an  untiring  consideration.  One 
feels  this  through  all  his  soul  at  Chattanooga. 
There  they  live,  Southern  men  and  women,  — 
on  their  own  grounds,  in  their  own  homes,  and 
everywhere  before  them  the  fields  of  their  defeat. 
They  cannot  look  up  but  their  eyes  rest  on  lost 
battle-grounds.  Every  landscape  has  its  story 
of  disaster.  The  soldiers  of  the  hated  conquer 
ors  are  coming  in  and  going  out  before  them. 
Visitors  are  arriving  solely  to  survey  the  scene 
of  their  misfortunes,  and  departing  to  spread 
the  tale  abroad.  We  too  had  our  defeats,  but 
they  did  not  come  into  our  door-yards.  We 
do  not  lie  down  and  rise  up  with  them.  And 
moreover  we  gained  the  final  victory.  They 


270  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

risked  all,  and  lost.  Now,  I  would  not  com 
promise  one  claim  demanded  by  national  justice 
or  national  safety,  but  further  than  this  I  would 
not  go.  If  they  wish  to  support  Mrs.  Davis  and 
her  children,  let  them.  If  they  want  to  strew  the 
graves  of  their  soldiers  with  flowers,  by  all  means 
let  them.  If  they  leave  the  graves  of  our  soldiers 
unadorned,  what  matter,  since  the  nation  holds 
them,  and  the  future  will  hold  them  in  highest 
honor?  If  women  wish  to  walk  in  the  middle 
of  the  streets,  up  to  their  ankles  in  mud  and 
mire,  following  the  funeral  train  of  a  favorite 
general,  why  lisp  a  syllable  to  oppose  them  ? 
From  the  red-heat  of  war  all  inflammable  sub 
stance  must  be  excluded ;  but  now  that  blood 
shed  at  least  is  over,  I  should  say  the  quickest 
way  to  put  the  fire  out  is  to  let  it  burn  itself 
out !  These  things  lay  hold  of  their  deepest, 
truest,  tenderest  sentiments.  The  lost  cause 
doubtless  to  a  vast  majority  was  a  holy  cause. 
By  tact  and  unswerving  courtesy,  by  a  judi 
cious  avoidance  of  topics  that  arouse  useless 
contention,  by  quietly  attending  to  those  points 
on  which  we  are  agreed,  by  inducing  as  far  as 
possible  a  harmony  of  interests,  by  an  unob- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  271 

trnsive  and  untiring  expression  of  good  feeling, 
by  a  sedulous  culfivation  of  that  spirit  of  Chris 
tian  love  which  seeketh  not  its  own,  and  is  not 
easily  provoked,  let  us  endeavor  to  win  them 
away  from  their  disappointment  and  unfriendli 
ness,  that  South  and  North  may  be  what  it  never 
yet  has  been,  one  country,  one  in  a  higher  sen 
timent  than  we  have  ever  felt,  one  in  a  truer 
prosperity  than  we  have  ever  found,  one  in  a 
nobler  destiny  than  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

I  do  not  greatly  wonder  at  the  feeling  com 
pounded  of  dislike  and  contempt  which  the 
"  higher  classes "  of  the  South  entertain  for 
"  Yankees,"  —  apart  from  their  persistent  and 
successful  opposition  to  the  peculiar  institution.  I 
suspect  that  very  many  of  the  Northerners  who 
go  South  are  ignorant  or  careless  of  good  breed 
ing,  which  in  its  last  analysis  is  Christianity. 
Christianity  in  social  intercourse  demands  that 
you  make  your  neighbor's  case  your  own.  Good 
breeding  demands  that  you  act  as  if  you  did, 
whether  you  do  or  not.  I  do  not  lay  this  down 
as  a  definition  for  immortality,  but  it  answers 
my  purpose.  So  then,  while  a  failure  in  Chris 
tianity  may  go  undetected  under  cover  of  good 


272  WOOL-GATHERING 

I 

breeding,  a  failure  in  good  breeding  is  neces 
sarily  the  failure  of  Christianity  too.  I  think, 
therefore,  that  if  one  is  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  Christianity,  while  he  may  fall  into 
awkward  mistakes  of  etiquette  disadvantageous 
to  himself,  he  will  never  be  guilty  of  those 
brutal  violations  of  etiquette  which  awaken  re 
sentment  in  others.  But  I  fear  many  of  our  * 
southward  travelling  citizens  are  not  of  the  most 
winning  or  the  most  wise  character.  In  the  first 
place,  doubtless,  many  of  them  do  not  come  from 
the  best  people  at  home,  —  the  people  who  have 
attained  the  last  results  of  Christian  refinement 
and  education.  They  are  men  of  energy,  men 
of  honesty,  —  let  us  hope,  though  after  the  late 
exhibitions  of  dishonesty  in  orthodox  circles  one 
can  but  speak  with  misgiving,  —  men  of  loyalty 
and  anti-slavery,  and  free-school,  and  prohib 
itory  liquor-law,  and  all  the  rest  that  we  were 
born  to,  and  have  grown  up  in,  and  adopted  with 
out  thought,  and  fight  for  in  season  and  out  of 
season  ;  but  they  are  not  always  men  of  nice 
perception,  of  delicate  sensibilities,  of  quick  dis 
crimination  as  to  times,  persons,  and  places.  Per 
haps  they  are  people  who  have  made  their  own 


WOOL-GATHERING.  273 

way  in  the  world,  and  have  become  a  little 
roughened  by  rough  usage,  as  people  always  are 
unless  provided  with  safeguards.  Or  perhaps 
they  are  fashioned  originally  of  delft,  not  por 
celain.  They  take  with  them  the  same  lack  of 
manners  which  so  disagreeably  characterizes  the 
North,  —  or,  if  that  is  too  strong,  I  will  say  which 
is  so  common  in  the  North.  Here  let  me  assert, 
in  parenthesis,  that  from  the  railroad  point  of 
view  the  South  is  unquestionably  superior  to 
the  North.  Official  persons  on  the  great  lines 
of  travel,  drivers,  conductors,  clerks,  are  usually 
more  attentive.  They  do  their  duty  more  thor 
oughly.  I  have  heard  it  suggested  that  there 
have  been  too  many  men  killed  for  want  of  de 
cency  in  small  things  to  render  any  coarse  man 
ners  entirely  safe.  Peaceable  folk  get  the  benefit 
of  an  improved  state  of  affairs.  It  may  be  so, 
and  certainly  if  the  shooting  of  one  in  ten  of 
all  persons  at  the  North  would  result  in  the 
uniform  courtesy  of  the  other  nine,  one  might 
lay  down  one's  life  in  a  worse  cause ! 

These  people  go  South  either  to  advance  their 
own   fortunes  or  to   benefit  the  South.      Some 
times   they  think  to   conciliate   the    Southerners 
12*  K 


274  WOOL-GATHERING. 

by  the  expression  of  a  sympathy  and  pity,  which, 
however  innocently  intended,  is  received  as  in 
sult  added  to  injury.  Or  they  talk  loudly  of 
the  superiority  of  Northern  to  Southern  society, 
—  possibly  in  those  very  points  in  which  they 
are  themselves  deficient.  So  they  awaken  an 
tipathy  before  they  have  time  to  command  re 
spect.  On  trial  they  would  prove  tnemselves 
true  friends,  and  in  many  respects  valuable  cit 
izens,  but  somehow  they  have  not  the  power 
to  walk  softly.  Much  good  they  will  do,  but 
much  also  they  will  fail  to  do.  They  will  ele 
vate  the  ignorant,  but  they  will  not  conciliate 
the  educated.  If  a  missionary  should  go  to  the 
Feejee  Islands,  I  suppose  he  would  hardly  say 
to  the  Islanders,  "  Come  now,  ye  pagans,  can 
nibals,  savages,  and  be  enlightened  by  me."  The 
most  brutalized  heathen  is  not  won  by  being  told 
that  he  is  a  heathen.  Think  then  of  the  relig 
ious  devoutness  and  the  elegant  manners  to  be 
found  in  the  South,  —  and  imagine  a  "  Yankee  " 
as  yet  somewhat  in  the  rough  affirming  in  its 
presence  that  what  the  South  wants  is  Northern 
civilization  and  Northern  Christianity  !  For  me, 
I  take  issue  with  the  fact,  as  well  as  with  the 


WOOL-GATHERING.  275 

mode  of  expressing  it.  Neither  Northern  civiliza 
tion  nor  Northern  Christianity  has  ever  seemed 
to  me  to  be  of  a  type  so  perfect  as  to  justify 
transportation.  I  have  seen  too  many  and  too 
grievous  flaws  in  both  to  be  very  complacent  in 
reflecting  on  them.  Bible  Christianity  and  Bible 
civilization  the  South  unquestionably  wants,  and 
of  both  she  doubtless  has  a  greater  lack  than 
the  North.  If  the  North  can  help  her  to  them, 
so  much  the  better;  she  will  at  the  same  time 
be  helping  herself,  and,  despite  her  increased  pos 
sessions,  she  also  stands  in  sore  need  of  them. 
But  the  cause  of  neither  South  nor  North  will 
be  helped  by  high-sounding  proclamations,  which 
have  the  air,  if  not  the  reality,  of  vainglory. 

The  South  is  an  excellent  specific  to  put  one 
in  humor  with  the  West.  An  ill-tempered  ir 
ritable  person  like  —  well,  let  us  say  like  the 
reader  !  —  does  sometimes,  it  must  be  confessed, 
come  into  contact  with  the  energies  of  the  West 
almost  too  violently  for  his  serenity.  "  You 
may  be  the  Great  West/'  mentally  apostrophizes 
this  violent-tempered  person  after  a  doleful  day's 
ride  in  an  unclean  and  un ventilated  rail-car,  or 
a  day's  sail  on  a  Floating  Palace,  —  "you  may 


276  WOOL-GATHERING. 

be  the  Great  West,  but  you  are  a  very  dirty 
Great  West.  You  are  a  smoking:  and  a  swear- 

O 

ing  and  an  uncouth  Great  West.  You  are  a 
loose-jointed,  ungainly  giant,  striding  over  the 
prairies,  leaving  your  footprints  everywhere, 
brandishing  your  big  arms  and  bawling  out  your 
prowess  through  the  disgusted  world.  Energy- 
have  you  ?  Yes,  you  are  drunken  with  energy. 
You  are  wrecked  on  the  rock  of  material  pros 
perity.  You  make  it  your  idol,  and  you  bow 
down  and  worship  it,  sacrificing  to  it  whatever 
is  lovely  and  fine  and  thorough.  Give  over  your 
boasting.  I  detest  material  prosperity.  Blessed 
be  poverty  and  failure  and  calmness  and  silence. 
Away  with  success  and  population  and  grain- 
elevators  ! 

"  It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree, 

In  bulk,  doth  make  man  better  be, 
Or  standing  long  an  oak  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall,  a  log,  at  last,  brown,  bald,  and  sear. 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May. 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night, 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  light. 
In  small  proportion  we  just  beauties  see, 
And  in  short  measure  life  may  perfect  be." 


WOOL-GATHERING.  277 

But  hush !  infuriated  gentle  reader.  All  in 
good  time.  We  must  creep  before  we  walk. 
And  the  West  is  showing  such  strength  of 
limb  and  suppleness  of  joint  in  creeping,  that 
we  may  confidently  count  on  her  walking  both 
sister  and  wife  of  the  gods  when  she  does  find 
her  feet.  Look  at  poor  little  Chicago  even,  — 
one  pities  her  floundering  helplessly  in  the  mud; 
but  is  she  floundering  helplessly  ?  Once,  twice, 
thrice,  she  has  turned  to  with  a  will  and  lifted 
herself  out  of  the  mud  unto  comparatively  clean 
habitations.  She  was  athirst,  and  she  presently 
bored  a  hole  two  miles  long  under  the  lake  to  get 
pure  water.  It  is  uncomfortable  waiting  in  her 
dismal  railroad  station,  but  just  yonder  is  rising 
a  railroad  station  that  is  to  be,  both  in  beauty 
and  comfort,  monarch  of  all  it  surveys,  and  of 
much  that  it  cannot  survey.  This  is  true  civil 
ization,  —  this  bringing  the  comforts  and  the  ele 
gances  of  life  within  everybody's  reach.  It  is 
because  the  West  is  not  a  land  of  great  perform 
ance  merely,  but  of  magnificent  promise,  that  we 
rejoice  in  it.  The  time  of  her  madness  is  gone 
by,  the  time  when  she  was  called  a  "  Garden  of 
Eden,  where  the  'land  flows  with  milk  and 


27  8  WOOL-GA  THE  RING. 

honey,'  —  where  a  man  has  but  to  '  open  wide  his 
mouth,  to  have  it  filled  with  the  finest  of  wheat,'  " 
—  when  it  was  declared  that  "  nothing  but  a  par 
cel  of  '  old  fogies '  will  be  found  in  Vermont  five 
years  hence " ;  she  promises  now  only  what  she 
has  power  to  perform.  If  the  West  were  con 
tent  with  her  present  attainments,  we  should  be 
little  proud  of  her,  but  because  these  are  only 
stepping-stones  to  her  future  greatness  we  re 
joice  ;  because  her  material  prosperity  is  but 
the  solid  basis  for  a  society  which  shall  be  the 
home  of  all  things  lovely  and  of  good  report, 
where  science  and  art  and  religion  shall  flour 
ish  like  a  green  bay-tree,  —  a  society  wherein 
all  that  is  crude  shall  be  mellowed,  all  that  is 
harsh  softened,  all  that  is  incomplete  rounded 
into  symmetry,  till  the  Great  West  shall  be  as 
graceful  as  she  is  prosperous,  a  centre  of  light 
as  well  as  of  heat,  —  the  king's  daughter,  all 
glorious  within. 

At  the  South  one  sees  the  need  of  that  very 
energy  which  so  superabounds  in  the  West. 
Better  that  energy  should  run  riot,  than  that 
it  should  die  into  quiescence  and  hopelessness. 
Yet  energy  there  must  be  in  the  South,  or  it 


WOOL-GATHERING.  279 

never  would  have  carried  on  its  long  war  so 
bravely  and  persistently.  What  she  now  wants 
to  develop  her  great  resources  is  simply  oppor 
tunity.  There  needs  above  all  things  peace, — 
a  settled  condition  of  things,  a  knowledge  of 
what  is  to  be  depended  on.  This  State  of 
Tennessee  abounds  in  natural  wealth.  Her  val 
leys  are  as  fertile  as  they  are  beautiful.  Her 
woods  are  inexhaustible.  Her  marble  is  already 
famous.  Her  quarries  would  at  the  North  make 
the  fortune  of  their  proprietor.  The  very  stones 
by  the  roadside  are  lumps  of  copper.  East  Ten 
nessee  is  one  mass  of  wealth  to  him  who  can 
make  it  available.  Her  unparalleled  sufferings, 
her  bravery,  her  fortitude,  and  her  courage  dur 
ing  the  war  gave  her  a  romantic  interest  at  the 
North.  Peace  has  not  yet  brought  her  quiet. 
Still,  afflicted  and  impoverished,  overrun  by  the 
armies  of  both  sides,  torn  by  internal  strife,  it  is 
easy  to  see  that  she  has  wonderful  recuperative 
powers.  Possessing  all  the  elements  of  beauty, 
wealth,  and  health,  she  must  be  capable  of  the 
highest  order  of  derelopment.  Her  objection 
able  features  are  temporary,  her  desirable  ones 
lasting. 


280  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

I  cannot  but  think  it  a  most  unfortunate  cir 
cumstance  for  the  Republican  cause  in  Tennes 
see,  that  it  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
violent,  vindictive,  and  vulgar  person  at  the 
head  of  her  affairs.  Governor  Brownlow  at 
the  North  stands  in  some  sort  as  representative 
of  the  loyalty  and  patriotism  of  East  Tennessee, 
—  faithful  among  many  faithless.  But  I  believe 
that  no  man's  good  reputation  rests  on  a  basis 
more  frail  and  insecure  than  his ;  while  the  reck 
lessness,  profanity,  and  uncleanness  of  his  speech 
are  such,  that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  any 
combination  of  circumstances  which  should  make 
it  the  duty  of  any  man  to  propose  or  support 
him  as  leader  in  any  measure  affecting  the  wel 
fare  of  society. 

The  columns  of  his  own  newspaper  furnish 
the  authority  for  my  statements,  —  perhaps  I 
ought  rather  to  say  the  grounds  of  my  belief. 

I  think  no  one  who  had  travelled  in  the  South 
could  ever  clamor  for  her  punishment,  or  feel 
that  she  has  been  let  off  lightly.  Her  punish 
ment  has  long  been  heavy  upon  her.  She  staked 
all  and  lost,  and  now,  sitting  in  dust  and  ashes, 
she  calls  forth  no  harsher  feeling  than  comrnis- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  281 

oration.  Those  men  are  hardly  the  truest  pa 
triots  who  talk  most  loudly  of  extreme  measures 
for  the  South,  and  count  all  lenity  as  treach 
ery  ;  but  rather  they  who,  yielding  nothing  to 
rebellion,  strive  now  only  to  bind  up  her  bleed 
ing  wounds  and  restore  her  wasted  strength. 


CHAPTER    X. 

East  Tennessee.  —  Historic  Doubts  concerning  Black  Mountain. 
—  Footprints   of   Fugitives.  —  On    the   War-trail.  —  Pursuit 
of  Knowledge  under  Difficulties.  —  A  Georgian   Planter.  — 
Plantation  Opinions.  —  Off  the  Track.  —  Northern  Man  with. 
Southern  Experience.  — Accounts  from  Charleston. 

'P  the  East  Tennessee  valley.  The 
Cumberland  Mountains  are  on  our 
left,  and  on  our  right  another  range, 
parallel  or  nearly  so  with  the  Cumberland,  and 
averaging  about  eighty  miles  apart.  This  consti 
tutes  the  eastern  wall  of  the  valley  and  the  legal 
boundary  of  Tennessee,  —  mountains  of  many 
names,  Stone,  Iron,  Bald,  Great  Smoky  Unaka, 
Unicay,  or  Unicai ;  and  somewhere  yonder  rises 
the  boasted  Black  Mountain,  which  is  said  to 
have  wrested  the  championship  from  our  Mount 
"Washington,  but  I  am  not  yet  convinced.  It  is  a 
beautiful  valley  that  we  are  traversing,  watered 
by  the  Holston,  the  Clinch,  the  Nolichuckey,  and 


WOOL-GATHERING.  283 

numerous  other  rivers,  all  bringing  their  largess 
of  loveliness  and  wealth.  In  this  region  they 
point  out  the  tree  on  which  was  hung  the  first 
yictim  of  the  rebellion  in  Tennessee ;  and  Green 
ville,  late  home  of  the  President ;  and  the  roof 
of  the  house  in  which  the  guerilla  Morgan  was 
shot.  Here  too  you  see  what  none  show,  —  the 
hosts  of  war-worn  fugitives  fleeing  from  rebel 
prisons,  coming 

"  Through  the  jaws  of  death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell/' 

seeking  the  shelter  of  the  old  Flag.  O  the 
aching  feet  that  have  climbed  these  moun 
tain-sides,  the  fearful  eyes  that  have  seen  a 
pursuer  in  every  shadow,  the  brave  hearts  that 
have  held  on  through  every  danger !  It  seems 
almost  pusillanimous  to  have  sat  quietly  at  home 
all  through  the  thunder-storm  of  battle,  and,  as 
soon  as  the  cloud  had  discharged  its  death-bolts, 
to  come  riding  as  quietly  over  the  fields  of  its 
devastation,  just  to  look  at  them. 

On  and  on,  up  and  down,  we  are  in  the  fa 
mous  valley  of  Virginia,  past  Mount  Airy,  past 
the  "Peaks  of  Otter,"  lifting  their  heads  high 
above  the  surrounding  scenery,  with  the  gap  be- 


284  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

tween  marking  the  line  of  retreat  pursued  by 
General  Hunter  when  foiled  in  his  effort  to  cap 
ture  Lynchburg.  Some  we  see  by  day  and  some 
by  night,  ghostly  and  grand  in  the  bright  moon 
light,  —  for  there  is  but  one  train  a  day  on  the 
railroad,  and  travellers  have  no  choice  of  light  or 
darkness.  But  the  sleeping-car  is  luxuriously 
easy,  and  gives  rest  if  not  sleep. 

There  is  pleasant  talk,  too,  in  the  long  journey. 
I  hear  no  words  of  bitterness  or  hatred,  scarcely 
any  politics  or  any  allusion  to  the  war.  Only 
an  elderly  gentleman  scowls  upon  the  boy  who 
offers  him  a  Harper's  Monthly  for  sale,  and  af 
firms  rather  ostentatiously  that  he  does  not  al 
low  it  in  his  house !  And  a  young  man  and  his 
wife,  of  middling  position,  have  a  contemptuous 
word  to  say  to  each  other  about  the  "  Yankees," 
which  they  could  be  taught  to  unsay  in  ten  min 
utes.  There  is  a  pretty  girl  opposite,  travelling 
with  her  newly-married  husband,  the  purple  and 
fine  linen  of  her  bridal  outfit  as  yet  all  unas- 
soiled.  Down  the  car  is  a  family  group  migrat 
ing  eastward,  two  grown  girls  among  them, 
chattering  their  musical  nothings  with  the  inex 
haustible  light-heartedness  of  youth  and  good 
spirits. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  285 

On  a  seat  next  a  window  sits  a  young  woman 
alone,  and  in  front  of  her  a  man  alone.  He 
was  evidently  originally  intended  to  be  hand 
some  after  a  large  and  generous  sort,  but  a 
coarse,  not  to  say  a  dissipated  life,  has  robbed 
him  of  every  vestige  of  beauty.  Moreover  he 
is  not  neatly  dressed,  and  altogether  is  not  pleas 
ing.  The  woman  I  have  never  seen  before,  but 
the  man  has  been  travelling  some  distance  our 
way,  and  soon  after  his  appearance  was  point 
ed  out  as  a  person  of  distinction,  elected  to  high 
office  by  a  Southern  State,  and  of  some  national 
prominence.  Of  course  I  am  interested  in  him. 
I  am  near,  and  I  can  see  him  without  looking, 
and  in  any  lull  of  the  train  I  cannot  help  hear 
ing  all  that  is  said.  What  I  do  hear  furnishes  a 
charming  offset  to  Yankee  inquisitiveness.  The 
man  has  several  newspapers  lying  on  the  seat 
and  over  its  back.  In  one  of  our  many  pauses 
the  young  woman  asks  permission  to  look  at  a 
paper.  He  grants  it  graciously,  but  in  a  gruff 
and  peculiarly  hollow  voice,  that  reminds  one 
of  his  youthful  experiments  of  talking  into  an 
empty  barrel.  Presently  she  returns  the  paper 
with  thanks.  After  a  while  he  offers  her  another, 


286  WOOL-GATHERING. 

which  she  declines  with  thanks.  Then  I  smile 
inwardly,  to  see  him  half  glancing  at  her  from 
under  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  now  and  then 
turning  half  around  to  her,  evidently  making 
up  his  mind  to  speak.  It  is  always  so  easy  to 
see  what  a  man  wants  to  do  when  you  stand 
aloof  yourself.  She  gazes  all  the  while  tran 
quilly  out  of  window,  but  I  make  no  doubt  is 
quite  as  aware  as  I  am  of  everything  going  on. 
Presently  he  can  contain  himself  no  longer,  and 
opens  the  ball. 

"Travelling  South?" 

"No  sir,"  with  the  slightest  possible  start  of 
surprise  that  does  not  in  the  least  deceive  me. 
"I  am  going  to  Washington." 

"  Do  you  live  in  Washington  ?  " 

"  No  sir,"  —  a  half-pause,  but  evidently  not 
wishing  palpably  to  snub  him.  "  I  live  in  New 
Hampshire." 

"  What  part  of  New  Hampshire  ?  " 

"  The  southwestern  part,  near  Keene."  (A 
"  Yankee  school-ma'am,"  I  say  to  myself.) 

"  Name  of  town  ?  " 

Half  annoyed  and  half  amused,  she  perhaps 
gives  the  name  of  the  town,  but  I  do  not  catch  it, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  287 

neither  I  think  does  he,  yet  he  has  not  the  small 
est  suspicion  of  being  repulsed.  If  he  thinks 
anything,  he  doubtless  thinks  she  is  shy,  and 
needs  to  be  drawn  out  by  an  affable  interlocutor 
like  himself.  Her  face  I  cannot  wholly  see,  but 
I  imagine  her  "  mingled  emotions  "  as  his  charac 
ter  gradually  reveals  itself.  As  a  companion  he 
is  not  agreeable,  but  as  a  phenomenon  he  is 
worth  observing. 

"  Visiting  in  the  South  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,  and  in  the  West.  I  have  been  in 
Cincinnati  and  around  through  Nashville,  Chat 
tanooga,  and  Knoxville."  (This  detour  is  neces 
sary  to  all  travellers  this  way,  there  being  but 
one  railroad  as  yet,  though  I  believe  one  is 
projected  directly  through  from  Cincinnati  to 
Knoxville,  and  so  to  Washington.) 

"  Ah  !  relic-hunting  !  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.     Rather  sight-seeing." 

"  Any  friends  in  Chattanooga  ?  " 

"Yes  sir,  a  few,  not  many." 

He  had  "  made  up  his  mouth  "  to  ask  their 
names,  but  she  turns  him  aside  with  some  re 
mark  that  I  do  not  hear,  and  the  next  question 
that  comes  to  my  ears  is,  — 


288  WOOL-GATHERING. 

"  Travelling  alone  ?  " 

"  No  sir,  my  cousin  is  with  me." 

"  Travelling  with  cousin,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes  sir." 

He  must  have  found  his  pursuit  of  knowl 
edge  rather  fatiguing,  for  he  forbears  further  in 
vestigation  and  subsides  into  semi-somnolence. 

In  an  hour  or  two  we  pass  a  cemetery  on  a 
pleasant  hillside,  and  several  of  the  passengers 
leave  their  seats  to  look  at  it.  The  young  wo 
man  in  question  goes  to  the  rear  of  the  car  for 
a  better  view,  and  on  her  return  her  obliging 
neighbor  remarks,  "  Cemetery  for  the  Federal 
soldiers." 

Perhaps  she  is  a  little  lackadaisical,  for  she 
answers,  "After  life's  fitful  fever  they  sleep 
well." 

He  gazes  at  her  a  moment,  evidently  struck 
with  the  new  idea  that  they  all  died  of  fever, 
and  then  puts  the  entirely  irrelevant  query,  — 

"  Husband  ain't  along  ?  " 

"No  sir." 

"  Left  him  in  Massachusetts  ?  " 

"He  is  there  if  he  is  anywhere,  doubtless," 
with  a  smile  only  half  suppressed. 


WOOL-GA  TIIERING.  289 

"  Ah  !  not  married,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"0  no  !  I  did  not  say  that.  However,  I  am 
not  married." 

"  Young  ladies  coming  from  the  North  gener 
ally  get  caught  up  pretty  quick  at  the  South." 

"  Then  it  stands  them  in  hand  to  stay  at 
home."  —  But  repenting  herself  of  the  inference, 
she  adds,  "  if  they  don't  want  to  be  caught  up." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  young  lady  that  did  not 
want  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  did." 

"  That 's  honest.  Never  saw  one  that  did  not 
want  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  say  that.  I  don't  know  that 
I  erer  saw  one.  I  do  not  know  what  young 
ladies  want." 

But  I  do  not  reckon  this  man  one  of  the 
pearls  and  corals  of  deep-sea  soundings  in  the 
South.  He  is  but  a  weed  temporarily  tossed  up 
by  the  storm. 

Our  own  party  is  increased  and  enlivened  by 
the  advent  of  a  Georgian  planter,  a  man  of 
the  world,  shrewd,  wealthy,  and  witty.  Yankee 
shrewdness  is  proverbial,  but  when  a  Southerner 
gives  his  mind  to  it  lie  is  a  fair  match  for  the 
13  s 


290  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

Yankee.  Our  Georgian  friend  looks,  too,  like 
the  ideal  Yankee.  He  is  tall,  and  slender,  and 
sallow,  —  enfeebled  just  now  by  a  recent  illness 
He  seems  to  be  conversant  with  the  whole  coun 
try.  He  is  interested  in  developing  mines  in 
Georgia.  He  has  dealings  in  Tennessee  also, 
and  both  the  Carolinas,  —  and  he  expresses 
himself  with  great  freedom.  "  It  was  a  most 
needless  war,"  he  says,  —  "a  wanton  war.  It 
never  ought  to  have  been  fought.  It  was 
brought  on  by  unprincipled  men,  —  your  side 
as  well  as  mine,"  with  a  playful,  defiant  nod 
at  us  Yankees.  "It  was  not  a  people's  war. 

It   was  a  politician's  war.     Look  at  State. 

Take  all  the  papers  that  were  blatant  for  seces 
sion.  How  many  of  them  represented  any  ma 
terial  interest?  Not  one.  They  were  managed 
by  a  set  of  poor  devils  who  had  nothing  to  lose. 
The  rich  men  knew  that  the  war  meant  ruin, 
and  they  went  dead  against  it,  but  they  were 
powerless.  What  is  the  result  ?  Just  what  was 
prophesied.  They  sold  themselves,  and  lost  the 
nio-o-ers." 

OO 

In   one  sense,  doubtless,  the  war  was  a  need 
less  war,  but  in    another  sense  it  was  inevitable. 


WOOL-GA.  THERING.  291 

The  alleged  provocations  were  insufficient  to  in 
duce  an  appeal  to  arms,  but  in  the  great  march 
of  events  —  human  nature  being  what  it  is,  and 
human  development  at  its  present  stage  —  we 
had  come  to  a  point  where  no  further  progress 
could  be  made  without  collision.  The  causes  of 
the  war  lay  far  below  its  occasion,  far  below  the 
power  of  politicians  materially  to  hurry  or  hinder. 
Perhaps  we  shall  understand  this  better  a  thou 
sand  years  hence  than  now. 

"  Look  at  what  the  war  has  done  for  us,"  adds 
the  ireful  Georgian.  "Here  is  East  Tennessee 
that  you  have  just  seen,  —  a  heaven-favored  val 
ley,  but  where  is  it  now  ?  Bad  men  who  cared 
only  for  their  own  pockets  took  the  lead  in  the 
rebellion,  protested  long  and  loud  their  loyalty 
to  the  South,  and  so  got  the  ear  of  the  Con 
federate  authorities  and  dictated  the  policy  for 
this,  to  them,  disloyal  population.  They  perpe 
trated  revolting  outrages  upon  the  unprotected 
Union  men,  and  when  their  reign  was  over  the 
Unionists  suffered  again  at  the  hands  of  their 
friends.  Men  who  had  been  honest  citizens 
before  the  war  came  back  from  the  Federal 
army,  to  which  they  had  fled  for  protection,  de- 


292  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

moralized  by  camp  life  and  determined  to  re 
venge  themselves  on  those  who  had  forced  them 
away  from  their  homes,  and  they  went  for  those 
who  should  grant  the  greatest  latitude  to  their 
vengeance.  Being  allowed  to  prey  first  upon 
their  enemies'  property,  as  a  punishment  for  real 
or  imaginary  wrongs,  the  whole  thing  soon  sunk 
into  a  general  system  of  plunder,  carried  on  by 
gross  violence.  Men  have  been  killed,  mobbed, 
exiled,  from  no  higher  motive  than  pelf.  In 
deed,  for  a  time  violence  and  dishonesty  got  the 
upper  hand  entirely,  and  the  tendency  was  to 
the  wildest  excesses.  Men  who  did  not  like  to 
steal  outright  did  it  under  color  of  law.  Courts 
were  organized,  narrow-minded,  illiterate,  incom 
petent  men  were  placed  on  the  bench,  and  such 
another  crop  of  litigation  as  sprang  up  there  you 
must  go  far  to  find." 

"But  this  state  of  things  is  giving  way  to 
something  better  ?  " 

"  Things  are  bad  enough  now.  The  internal 
affairs  of  the  State  are  in  a  most  unsettled  con 
dition.  It  affects  the  simplest  matters  of  busi 
ness.  Nobody  knows  what  to  look  for,  and 
therefore  nobody  knows  what  to  do." 


WOOL-GATHERING.  293 

"  What  is  the  remedy,  in  your  judgment  ?  " 
"  The  true  policy  was  that  foreshadowed  by 
President  Lincoln,  and  the  terms  of  capitulation 
conceded  by  Grant.  Had  this  been  acted  upon 
in  its  broadest  sense  and  guaranteed  by  univer 
sal  amnesty,  we  should  to-day,  in  my  opinion, 
have  been  the  most  united,  harmonious,  and 
prosperous  people  on  earth.  The  South  was 
conquered,  and  in  a  temper  to  have  appreciated 
and  responded  to  a  generous  forbearance  on  the 
part  of  the  North  with  a  warmth  of  gratitude 
and  national  pride  that  would  have  electrified 
the  nation.  Their  defeat,  losses,  and  sufferings 
had  already  begun  to  engender  a  feeling  of 
hatred  against  the  men  who  had  betrayed  them 
into  rebellion.  A  little  encouragement  would 
have  kindled  this  lurking  dissatisfaction  into  open 
denunciation,  and  peace  would  have  come  at 
once.  But  distrust  aggravated  by  falsehood, 
short-sightedness,  and  party  machinations  inter 
vened  and  forbade  the  banns,  and  here  we  are 
drawing  wider  and  wider  apart." 

"  But  what  do  you  consider  the  exciting  cause 
of  this  distrust  ?     What   was  it   that   prevented 


;294  WOOL-GATHERING. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  it  was.  Politicians  — 
men  who  prize  place-  more  than  they  do  the 
public  good  —  fancied  that  the  restoration  of  the 

XT  O 

Southern  States  would  displace  them  from  pow 
er.  Under  this  conviction,  and  with  the  view 
of  retaining  power  and  controlling  and  carry 
ing  the  next  Presidential  election,  they  deliber 
ately  set  themselves  to  work  to  prevent  a  res 
toration." 

I  asked  him  of  the  President.  President  and 
Congress  he  believed  to  be  acting  from  one  and 
the  same  motive,  self-aggrandizement,  and  as 
their  objects  are  world-wide  apart  there  could 
but  be  a  quarrel.  u  All  the  advantage  the 
President  has  over  Congress  is  that  he  is  near 
er  right  than  they.  The  quarrel  itself  must 
display  the  workings  of  the  spirit  that  produced 
it,  a  disregard  of  truth  and  the  decencies  of 
official  position  and  intercourse,  intolerance,  vi 
tuperation,  and  a  wanton  trampling  under  foot 
of  official  oaths.  Everything  seems  to  be  done 
with  an  eye  single  to  the  advancement  of  party 
till  the  Constitution  is  already,  so  far  as  Con 
gress  is  concerned,  abrogated,  and  there  is  no 
limit  to  Congressional  action  except  the  capri- 


WOOL-GA  TREEING.  295 

cious  Congressional  will,  which  is  animated  and 
controlled  by  petty  malice  and  narrow  views 
of  party  policy.  What  we  want  is  a  statesman 
who  can  rise  far  enough  above  personal  con 
siderations  to  point  out  the  road  to  safety.  I 
do  not  care  for  his  residence  or  his  former  par 
ty  predilections,  if  he  is  only  capable,  true,  and 
patriotic." 

I  asked  him  what  attitude  he  took  at  the 
commencement  of  the  struggle. 

"  For  twenty  years,"  he  answered,  "  I  warred 
against  the  growing  spirit  of  alienation,  the  ten 
dency  to  national  disruption,  —  but  to  no  pur 
pose.  When  the  conflict  began,  I  deplored  it 
more  than  any  act  of  madness  our  countrymen 
had  ever  perpetrated,  and  I  did  all  I  could  to 
avert  it.  But  of  course  I  could  not  hate  the 
Southern  people.  The  influence  of  many  others 
throughout  the  South  was  exerted  in  favor  of 
the  maintenance  of  the  authority  of  the  Federal 
Government.  We  believed  the  solemn  declara 
tion  of  Congress  that  the  war  was  waged  for 
the  preservation  of  the  government  and  the 
Union,  and  we  did  not  believe  that  men  like 
myself  had  forfeited  any  of  our  constitutional 


296  WOOL-GATHERING. 

rights  ;  we  believed,  if  treason  was  a  crime,  it 
was  the  crime  of  those  who  committed  it,  and 
not  the  crime  of  the  State,  and  that,  as  ths 
Federal  army  approached,  it  would  be  an  army 
of  liberation,  and  not  of  oppression;  that  it 
would  bring  with  it  the  protection  which  the 
Constitution  guarantees  to  every  American  citi 
zen,  to  every  loyal  man  residing  in  the  South. 
We  were  willing  to  bear  all  the  inevitable  evils 
incident  to  war,  and  to  submit  to  such  changes 
in  the  fundamental  law  as  were  necessary  to 
secure  the  future  safety  of  the  country.  So  we 
not  only  acquiesced,  but  aided,  in  the  abolition 
of  slavery.  Beyond  this  we  were  unwilling  to 
go." 

"  How  were  your  own  slaves  affected  by  the 
war  ?  " 

"  I  said  to  them  in  the  beginning :  « You  are 
going  to  be  free.  The  war  is  going  to  free  you 
all.  You  stay  at  home  and  behave  yourselves. 
Don't  you  go  to  cutting  up,  and  don't  you  go 
into  the  army.'  Not  one  of  them  left  me.  They 
knew  I  was  their  friend.  I  never  flowed  mv 

oo  J 

slaves.  If  they  stole,  I  sold  them,  that 's  all, 
and  no  words  about  it.  When  the  time  came, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  297 

I  bought  farms  and  put  some  of  my  men  on, 
and  set  them  up  for  themselves.  I  got  places  for 
some  of  them,  and  some  I  hire.  They  come  to  me 
now  when  they  want  anything.  About  all  owe 
me  money,  five  or  ten  dollars  apiece.  I  think 
it  is  better  to  lend  them  money  than  give  it  to 
them,  because  they  don't  come  so  often.  They 
are  afraid,  if  they  ask  for  more,  I  shall  ask  them 
to  pay  what  they  borrowed  before.  I  had  no 
trouble  with  my  slaves  through  the  war.  They 
would  do  anything  for  me,  —  ride  fifty  miles 
by  night  alone  if  I  asked  them.  I  had  one  of 
them  to  help  me  bury  my  silver  at  night.  He 
and  I  went  out  together.  He  was  the  only  one 
that  knew  anything  where  it  was.  When  peace 
came,  he  went  with  me  and  got  it  out  again." 

I  asked  how  he  bore  himself  towards  the  war. 

"  I  kept  everybody  out  of  it  that  I  could.  I 
advised  every  one  over  whom  I  had  any  in 
fluence  not  to  go  into  the  army.  Whenever 
I  found  any  fugitive,  Union  prisoner,  or  rebel 
soldier  lurking  about  my  grounds,  I  fed  him. 
My  servants  had  orders  to  feed  everybody  that 
wanted  food." 

Was  he  always  furnished  with  food  ? 

13* 


298  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

"Always.  I  looked  out  for  that  in  the  first 
place.  I  had  hams  laid  up  for  a  regiment.  I 
laid  up  store  for  two  years  ahead.  I  could  have 
held  out  a  good  while  longer  than  the  war  did. 
I  advised  against  taking  the  Confederate  Bonds. 
I  knew  they  were  worthless.  To  be  sure  no 
body  believed  me,  and  went  on  just  the  same. 
They  said,  if  we  succeeded,  the  Confederate 
Bonds  would  be  as  good  as  cotton  or  gold.  If 
we  failed,  all  the  land  would  be  confiscated,  and 
therefore  real  estate  would  be  worth  no  more 
than  bonds.  There  was  a  possibility  of  gain  on 
one  side,  and  a  certainty  of  loss  on  the  other. 
I  took  Confederate  Bonds  to  pay  my  debts  and 
buy  plantations  with.  That  is  all  the  use  I 
ever  had  for  them." 

"  But  are  your  plantations  good  property 
now  ?  " 

"  Not  now.  They  are  doing  very  little  yet ; 
but  they  are  as  good  as  anything,  and  will  be 
better  if  the  country  is  ever  settled.  But  noth 
ing  can  be  done  so  long  as  we  are  in  this  dis 
tracted  and  uncertain  condition.'' 

The  train  has  been  standing  still  in  the  woods 
a  long  while,  from  some  unexplained  cause.  But 


WOOL-GA  THERINO.  299 

we  do  not  object ;  it  is  a  pleasant  place,  and  the 
cessation  of  the  whiz  and  whir  is  a  relief  to  the 
ear.  In  the  pauses  of  our  talk  I  hear  the  ripple 
of  an  unseen  brook  by  the  roadside.  It  turns 
out  that  we  have  run  over,  or  rather  have  tossed 
up  a  cow,  and  she  in  return  has  tossed  the  ten 
der  off  the  track.  Many  cows  have  had  hair 
breadth  escapes  from  us  to  relate  to  their  lis 
tening  calves  on  some  future  summer  eve,  but 
this  is  the  first  one  who  has  proved  in  her 
own  experience  the  truth  of  George  Stephen- 
son's  answer  to  the  incredulous  and  somewhat 
sneering  Parliamentary  Committee,  who  asked 
him  if  it  would  not  be  a  very  awkward  cir 
cumstance  should  a  cow  stray  upon  the  track 
and  get  in  the  way  of  the  engine.  "  Very 
awkward  indeed  — for  the  coo  !  " 

"  Plantations,"  says  another  planter,  joining  in 
the  conversation,  —  a  Northern  young  man  who 
went  from  college  to  the  war,  and  after  the 
war  remained  —  one  can  hardly  say  "  settled  "  — 
in  South  Carolina,  leasing  plantations  and  till 
ing  them  with  his  own  brains  and  money, — 
"  plantations  are  of  very  little  use  without 
money.  I  know  of  people  in  South  Carolina 


300  WO  OL-GA  THERING. 

who  were  millionnaires  before  the  war,  and  who 
have  plantations  by  the  dozen  now,  but  are 
utterly  cleaned  out  of  ready  money." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Georgian,  "  a  few  persons 
have  preserved  their  property,  but  very  few." 

"  It  must  make  a  vast  difference  in  the  whole 
state  of  society?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  Northern  plant 
er.  "I  do  not  know  how  it  used  to  be,  —  the 
aborigines  hold  themselves  much  aloof  from  the 
invaders,  —  but  going  to  Charleston  from  the 
North  is  like  going  back  a  hundred  years.  The 
forced  economy,  simplicity,  and  quiet  are  very 
striking.  Houses  all  old,  but  most  of  them  large, 
commodious,  and  picturesque.  No  street  lights, 
worse  than  no  street  pavements,  no  private  car 
riages,  no  theatres  or  other  public  amusements 
(not  even  a  sensation  preacher).  People  wear 
any  sort  of  clothes,  old  Confederate  uniforms, 
sometimes  with  the  buttons  altered,  sometimes 
not,  'jeans,'  and  other  homespuns.  Kid  gloves 
are  almost  unknown.  Girls  go  to  parties  at 
eight,  wearing  high-necked  muslin  dresses,  and 
sup  on  cake  and  sangaree.  The  conductors  of 
the  street  cars  are  young  gentlemen,  —  real  ones. 


WOOL-GATHERING.  301 

Family  equipages,  if  there  ever  were  any,  have 
disappeared." 

"  Not  six,"  added  the  Georgian  emphatically, 
"in  this  town,  that  formerly  boasted  two  hun 
dred." 

"  Do  they  submit  to  this  state  of  things,  or  do 
they  struggle  against  it?" 

"  They  take  to  it  rather  kindly  than  other 
wise.  There  is  very  general  stagnation.  Peo 
ple  have  nothing  to  do,  and  give  themselves 
plenty  of  time  to  do  it.  The  burnt  district  still 
lies  empty.  In  the  ruined  tower  of  a  church 
near  my  town  boarding-house  I  have  heard  the 
screech-owl.  The  people  are  prostrate  and  de 
spairing.  They  confess  themselves  a  conquered 
country  and  ready  to  suffer  anything.  They 
seem  to  live  in  the  memories  of  the  past,  con 
soling  themselves  with  having  made  a  good  fight 
in  a  bad  cause,  and  boasting  like  Palmerin  of 
England  in  the  giant's  castle :  '  Certes,  it  can 
never  be  said  of  me,  that,  using  my  strength,  I 
was  conquered  to  my  shame  !  ' : 

"  One  cause  is,"  said  the  Georgian,  "  that  the 
people  are  utter  disbelievers  in  republican  gov 
ernment,  and  convinced  that  the  United  States 


302  WOOL-GATHERING. 

must  go  to  the  deuce  some  day,  however  pros 
perous  at  present." 

"  I  think,  however,"  said  the  Northerner,  "  that 
the  men  are  rather  more  inclined  to  reconstruc 
tion  than  the  women." 

Of  course  I  put  in  a  word  of  explanation  here, 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  report.  What  I 
desire  is  simply  to  present  the  unstudied  opin 
ions  of  honest  men  who  are  neither  partisans 
nor  politicians,  —  the  opinions  that  are  given  in 
common  conversation,  which  seem  to  me  far  more 
valuable  than  public  set  speeches. 

"  I  know,"  continued  the  younger  planter, 
"  some  desperate  fire-eaters,  renowned  duellists, 
whom  I  now  regard  as  Christian  did  Giants 
Pope  and  Pagan.  The  war  has  cut  the  claws 
of  many  such  giants.  Do  you  remember  how, 
in  the  old  dramatists  (Marlowe's  Edward  II.  is 
a  good  example),  the  character  who  is  revelling 
in  wicked  power  at  the  beginning  is  so  ill-treat 
ed  before  the  end,  that  you  forget  his  old  offences 
and  he  attracts  all  your  sympathy?  That  is 
the  way  these  Charlestonians  affect  me  now ; 
and  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  their  being  exter 
minated  piecemeal,  as  a  cat  kills  a  mouse,  by  the 


WOOL-GATHERING.  303 

triumphant,  power-intoxicated  Congressional  ma 
jority." 

"  Half  the  talk  about  the  negro,"  said  the 
Georgian,  "  is  mere  humbug,  to  keep  up  that 
abominable  system  of  robbery  called  '  protec 
tion.'  " 

"  Abominable  indeed,"  I  echo,  sympathetically. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  he  queries, 
glowering  at  me,  good-humoredly. 

"  Everything  there  is  to  know,"  —  sacrificing 
truth  to  bravado. 

We  are  coming  back  once  more  to  villages,  — 
Charlottesville  with  its  University,  the  child  of 
Jefferson's  old  age,  past  Monticello,  his  home, 
and  then  through  a  succession  of  battle-grounds, 
scarred  still  with  strife,  wrapped  now  in  a  deathly 
quiet.  Manassas,  Bull  Run,  —  what  intensity  of 
life  lies  hidden  in  those  words,  what  past  and 
future  meet  in  voiceful  silence  here  I 


CHAPTER    XI. 

In  "Washington. — Arlington.  —  Freedmen's  Village.  —  A  Pa 
triarch.  —  Comparing  Notes  with  Freedmen  concerning  Free 
dom.  —  Mount  Vernon  Colored  Schools.  —  Colored  Churches. 
—  A  (colored)  Representative  of  the  First  Families  of  Vir 
ginia.  —  Gettysburg.  —  Gossip  of  the  Battle.  —  Home.  —  The 
Denouement. 

ARROW  Revisited  is  never,  I  suppose, 
quite  the  same  as  Yarrow  Visited. 
Washington  has  not  passed  unchanged 

through  the  fierce  disorders   of  our  battle-years. 

Peaceful  and  prosperous  enough,  her  streets  have 

not  yet  lost  the  echoes  of  war,  and  still  on  her 

highlands  we  see 

"  Grandest  of  mortal  sights, 

The  sun-browned  ranks  to  view,  — 

The  Colors  ragg'd  in  a  hundred  fights, 

And  the  dusty  Frocks  of  Blue !  " 

A  living  presence,  he  walks  here  still,  the  pa 
tient,  sad-eyed  man  who  led  the  people  through 
the  sea  and  through  the  wilderness  and  was  not, 


WOOL-GATHERING.  305 

for  God  took  him.  A  spirit  broods  over  these 
familiar  landscapes,  and  sheds  for  all  time  an 
influence  stronger  than  the  gay  laugh  or  the 
merry  word  can  dispel.  There  comes  over  me 
a  great  longing  to  see  the  old  places,  —  alas ! 
the  old  faces  I  shall  never  see  again.  Arling 
ton  still  fronts  us  from  her  wooded  nest,  —  Ar 
lington  with  her  pillared  stateliness  afar,  with 
her  cheap  finery  at  hand.  The  old  oaks  that 
have  not  been  despoiled  are  as  beautiful  as  ever ; 
there  are  still  the  noble  groves,  the  broad 
estate,  but  it  is  sown  with  a  more  precious 
seed  than  ever  its  owner  scattered.  All  along 
the  drive-way,  by  the  roadside,  in  grove  and 
garden  and  field  they  lie,  "  comrades  of  camp 
and  mess,"  foes  in  battle,  but  friends  in  death,  — 
"  Union,"  "  Rebel,"  "  Unknown,"  tenderly  cared 
for,  smiled  on  by  sun,  sheltered  by  shade,  sung 
to  by  bird  and  breeze.  O, 

"  Well  may  Nature  keep 
Equal  faith  with  all  who  sleep," 

and  well  may  our  country  emulate  Nature  en 
folding  all  the  dead  in  her  -motherly  embrace. 
But  a  mightier  arm  than  government's  holds 


306  WOOL-GATHERING. 

ownership  here,  and  no  reversion  of  decree  can 
dispossess  the  speechless  hosts  that  haunt  these 
woods, 

"  Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 

It  is  eminently  fitting  that  a  part  of  this  estate 
should  be  tenanted  by  the  Freedmen.  Their 
little  whitewashed  village  is  the  picture  of  neat 
ness.  Children  are  playing  in  the  hard,  grav 
elled  streets,  and  old  men  are  sunning  themselves 
on  benches  before  the  door.  It  is  a  hazardous 
thing,  this  government  tutelage,  but  I  suppose 
it  was  the  only  thing  to  be  done,  and  so  it 
come  to  an  end  at  the  earliest  possible  moment, 
I  trust  it  will  bring  only  good.  Driving  through 
the  village  we  make  occasion  to  stop  and  push 
inquiries,  and  are  soon  surrounded  by  a  dozen 
negroes,  chiefly  women  and  children,  little  black- 
eyed  imps  that  look  irresistibly  roguish,  but  keep 
a  respectful  though  grinning  silence  while  their 
elders  are  talking.  We  are  presently  joined  by 
an  infirm  and  very  aged  man,  and  "  How  are 
you  getting  on,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Poorly,  poorly,"  with  a  smile,  and  a  soft, 
tremulous,  low  voice. 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  307 

"  Were  you  also  freed  by  the  war  ?  " 

"  No  Mass'r,  I  was  fuss  slave  in  Maryland, 
den  I  was  sole  down  in  South  Carlina.  Mass'r, 
he  kep  me  thar  till  I  was  too  ole  to  work,  den 
he  freed  me,  an' gib  me  money  to  pay  my  fare, 
an'  started  me  Norf  again  to  get  to  my  chil'en." 

"Which  do  you  like  best,  being  a  freedman 
or  a  slave  ?  " 

"  O,  I  'd  be  better  with  my  ole  Mass'r.  No 
body  can  take  as  good  care  of  me  as  my  ole 
Mass'r.  Don't  give  me  money  enough  now  to 
buy  a  chaw  of  tobacky." 

This  objection  to  freedom  is  speedily  removed, 
and  the  old  man  is  voluble  in  his  gratitude,  "  God 
bless  you,  Sir,  and  send  you  to  Heaven,  Sir." 
Hurry  slowly  there,  old  friend,  but  tell  us  does 
not  government  help  you  live  ? 

"  O  yes !  gub'ment  gives  rations  of  meat  once 
in  five  days.1' 

"  And  how  much  is  a  ration  ?  " 

"  Well,  two,  free  pounds,"  which  seems  a  very- 
respectable  ration  after  all. 

"  Can  you  tell  us  how  old  you  are,  uncle  ?  " 

"  If  I  live  till  this  time  next  year,  I  shall  be  a 
hundred." 


308  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

Old  as  he  looks,  we  are  a  little  incredulous  of 

this  statement,  but  he  refers  us  to  Mrs. in 

Washington,  who  knows  his  age,  and  will  cor 
roborate  his  assertion. 

On  our  way  home  our  colored  driver  —  col 
ored  legally,  but  his  olive  complexion,  his  straight 
glossy  black  hair,  his  dark  gray-blue  eyes,  give  no 
sign  of  any  but  the  pure  blue  blood,  — •  is  ques 
tioned  about  this  matter  of  freedom.  "Are  the 
blacks  in  Washington  really  any  better  off  than 
before  they  were  free  ?  " 

He  thinks  they  have  more  priv'leges. 

"Are  they  intelligent  enough  to  comprehend 
or  appreciate  freedom  ?  " 

"  The  blacks  is  just  like  other  folks ;  some  is 
perfectly  ign'ant,  some  is  apt  to  learn,  and  some 
is  intelligent." 

"  Are  they  industrious,  and  do  they  have  a  fair 
chance  for  a  living  ?  " 

"Them  what's  mind  to  work  can  do  well, 
an'  them  what 's  lazy  and  hang  roun'  don'  do 
nothin'." 

He  distinguishes  also  between  the  contrabands 
and  the  refugees,  the  former  class  comprising 
those  who  were  freed  by  the  army,  and  the  lat- 


WOOL-GA  THE  RING.  309 

ter  those  who  came  over  of  their  own  will  from 
Maryland.  One  of  these  he  puts  quite  above 
the  other,  but  I  have  forgotten  which  it  is  ! 

Another  colored  man,  formerly  a  slave  on  the 
Mount  Vernon  estate,  when  asked  his  opinion 
of  freedom  as  compared  with  slavery,  replied 
demurely,  "  I  ain't  no  fault  to  find  with  my  last 
master." 

"  That  was  Mr.  Washington." 

"No,  myself!" 

Mount  Vernon  has  been  greatly  improved  since 
it  came  into  the  hands  of  our  countrywomen. 
On  the  brightest  of  all  bright  autumn  days,  we 
visited  it,  passing  through  a  waste  yet  lovely 
country,  through  the  smutty  little  town  of  Alex 
andria,  past  the  slave-pen,  past  the  house  where 
Ellsworth  rushed  to  his  death  long  ago,  tarrying 
to  enter  the  little  ivied  church  where  Washing 
ton  came  to  worship,  and  which  keeps  still  in 
its  ancient  form  the  square  pew  which  he  oc 
cupied.  We  linger  in  the  shaded  church-yard 
among  the  quaint  inscriptions,  and  drop  a  natural 
tear  to  the  memory  of  "  dorothy  harper,  who  de 
parted  this  life  after  and  in  Dispocion  of  three 
years,"  rejoice  with  the  surviving  relatives  of 


310  WOOL-GA  TIIER1NG. 

another  lady  in  the  comfortable  reflection  that 
she  was  connected  with  several  of  the  most  re 
spectable  families  of  Virginia,  and  mentally  chide 
those  mischievous  soldier  boys,  who  have  made 
some  of  these  stones  tell  a  different  story  from 
what  they  were  set  to  speak.  Then  again  across 
the  scarcely  inhabited  country,  till  we  enter  the 
Mount  Vernon  estate,  and  drive  mile  after  mile 
through  its  magnificent  grounds,  over  broken, 
rugged,  perhaps  dangerous,  but  romantic  roads 
to  the  beautiful  home  that  Washington  loved 
so  well,  —  the  charming,  rural  home,  set  in  the 
glory  of  gay  greenwood  and  sunny  slope  and  vel 
vet  sward  and  winding  way,  fronting  the  river 
and  the  dam,  and  wooing  to  itself  all  the  en 
chantments  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky.  I  am 
glad  to  see  that  neatness  and  order  have  taken 
the  place  of  its  late  unthrift,  and  restored  to  it 
something  of  the  comeliness  of  its  first  estate. 
The  turf  is  smoothed  and  the  walks  clean.  The 
old  disgraceful  untidiness  of  the  tomb  is  banished, 
and  all  things  are  done  decently.  Yet  I  must 
confess  I  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  having  so 
large  a  part  of  the  house  closed  to  visitors.  I 
supposed  it  was  the  property  of  the  women  of 


WOOL-GATHERING.  311 

the  country,  held  for  the  country's  honor  and 
benefit;  yet  of  the  eighteen  rooms  that  the 
house  contains,  we  are  allowed  to  see  but  four 
or  five,  —  no  more  than  were  open  when  it  was 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Washington.  Our  con 
ductor  informs  us  that  these  are  the  only  rooms 
of  any  interest,  but  I  would  much  prefer  to  judge 
for  myself  what  rooms  have  interest.  I  think 
Washington's  library  has  a  very  deep  and  pecu 
liar  interest,  but  it  is  used  as  a  dining-room  by 
its  present  occupant,  and  is  inaccessible.  The 
guest-chambers  of  Washington  cannot  be  entire 
ly  commonplace,  but  none  of  them  are  open  to 
inspection.  Indeed,  the  house  seems  just  as 
much  a  private  house  as  when  it  was  in  private 
hands.  It  may  be  necessary  for  safe  keeping 
that  a  part  of  the  house  should  be  occupied, 
but  certainly  its  safety  might  be  insured  with 
out  devoting  thirteen  or  fourteen  rooms  to  its 
custodians,  and  leaving  only  four  or  five  to  the 
world. 

For  the  one  colored  school  that  used  to  be  in 
Washington,  a  stone  of  stumbling,  and  a  rock 
of  offence,  there  are  colored  schools  springing 


3 1 2  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

up  in  various  directions,  unconcerned  and  un 
noticed.  I  found  them  in  no  respect  essentially 
different  from  any  common  country  district 
school.  Some  of  the  pupils  were  bright,  and 
some  were  dull.  Some  answered  promptly,  some 
hesitatingly,  and  some  not  at  all.  It  is  as  our 
driver  says,  "  the  blacks  is  just  like  other  folks," 
and  the  sooner  we  become  convinced  of  the  fact, 
and  cease  special  measures  and  ways  of  think 
ing,  the  better.  In  the  churches,  however,  there 
seemed  a  greater  difference  between  African  and 
American  modes  than  in  the  schools.  One 
church  which  we  attended  was  celebrating  the 
Lord's  Supper.  It  was  a  large  house,  but  the 
lower  part  was  already  filled  to  overflowing.  We 
went  up  a  narrow,  steep  flight  of  stairs,  to  the 
galleries.  The  sexton  met  us  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  put  to  each  one  who  came  up  the 
question,  u  Are  you  a  member  ?  "  The  "  ayes  " 
were  conducted  to  a  seat,  or  at  least  to  a  stand 
ing-place.  The  "  noes "  were  very  courteously 
informed,  that,  owing  to  the  great  numbers  pres 
ent,  the  church  was  able  to  provide  seats  only  for 
"  members."  The  sexton  permitted  us  to  remain 
standing  as  long  as  we  chose,  and  seemed  partic- 


WOOL-  GA  THEEING.  313 

ularly  to  regret  his  inability  to  accommodate  us. 
He  came  to  us  once  or  twice,  expressed  his  sor 
row,  hoped  we  should  not  fail  to  come  to  them 
again,  and  expressly  invited  those  who  went 
away  to  return  in  the  evening,  when  there  would 
be  room  for  all.  His  regrets  and  apologies  were 
expressed  not  with  servility,  but  with  a  gen 
tle,  soft-spoken  courtesy  that  was  very  winning. 
The  services  were  conducted  in  an  orderly  and 
serious  manner.  The  prayer  was  fervent,  and 
seemed  to  spring  from  a  heart  conscious  of  the 
exigencies  of  the  time.  The  speaker  besought 
the  Lord  to  "  nerve  us  for  the  work  laid  upon 
us,  —  that  we  may  not  fear  frowns  nor  court 
smiles."  The  singing  was  melodious  and  ener 
getic.  A  good  many  of  the  congregation  kept 
time  with  their  feet,  and  the  rhythmic  thumps 
seemed  to  give  a  sort  of  emphasis  to  the  ascrip 
tions  of  praise.  As  the  services  went  on,  we 
became  aware  of  a  certain  ground-swell  of  en 
thusiasm  without  any  especial  exciting  cause. 
There  was  a  swaying  and  a  rocking  of  the 
body,  an  eagerness  and  a  loudness  of  response, 
but  no  ungainly  tumult. 

As  the  numbers  increased  to  a  cro*vd  around 

14 


314  WOOL-GA  THERING. 

us,  and  as  ventilation  has  not,  I  regret  to  say, 
been  carried  to  any  greater  perfection  in  col 
ored  churches  than  in  our  own,  we  generously 
relinquished  our  standing-places  to  later  comers 
and  went  to  another  church.  This  was  about 
half  full.  Several  ministers  were  in  the  pul 
pit,  tall,  stalwart,  well-dressed,  and  good-look 
ing  men.  The  pastor  of  the  church  read  the 
notices,  but  the  preacher  for  that  day  was  a 
stranger.  We  missed  the  first  part  of  the  ser 
mon,  but  the  theme  seemed  to  be  the  deliver 
ance  of  the  Israelites  out  of  Egypt.  As  might 
be  supposed,  the  subject  would  naturally  lead 
to  exciting  topics,  and  the  congregation  showed 
themselves  fully  alive  to  the  existing  state  of 
things.  Their  Amens  and  Glory  to  God's  grew 
gradually  louder  and  louder,  till  they  became 
fused  into  one  homogeneous  and  prolonged 
"hi!  yi!" — a  kind  of  sacred  yell  recurring 
at  minute  intervals  during  the  most  exciting  pas 
sages,  and  fairly  drowning  the  speaker's  words. 
He  fully  shared  in  the  excitement  which  he  had 
kindled.  Repeatedly  he  jumped  from  the  floor 
as  high  as  he  could  leap,  two  or  three  times  in 
succession,  —  a  gesture  more  impressive  than  sol- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  315 

emn.  His  voice,  as  well  as  his  body,  was  raised 
to  the  highest  pitch.  "  When  the  Lord  wanted 
to  let  the  Egyptians  go,  he  brought  in  the  ele 
ments.  When  this  country  was  so  clogged  with 
slavery  that  the  truth  of  God  was  become  a 
lie,"  —  hi!  yi !  hi!  and  clerical  gymnastics, — 
"  distinguished  divines  —  "  Hi !  yi !  "  God  re 
moved  slavery  at  once !  "  Renewed  and  pro 
longed  yells,  during  which  the  preacher's  lips 
seemed  to  be  framing  words,  and  his  straining 
muscles  indicated  extreme  exertion ;  but  there 
was  no  distinguishable  voice  in  the  storm  of 
sound.  The  whole  congregation  seemed  to  be 
swaying  towards  him,  drawn  unconsciously  but 
irresistibly  by  a  kind  of  magnetic  attraction. 
One  of  the  occupants  of  the  pulpit,  a  middle- 
aged,  light-complexioned,  gray-whiskered  man, 
who  in  repose  looked  as  if  he  might  be  Sec 
retary  of  the  American  Board,  or  some  other 
equally  grave  and  reverend  seignior,  seemed  to 
be  in  an  ecstasy.  He  rubbed  hia  hands,  slapped 
his  knees,  bobbed  his  head  down  almost  low 
enough  to  meet  them,  hitched  and  twisted  him 
self  to  right  and  left,  jerked  his  head  sidewise, 
laughed  and  shouted  and  talked  to  himself. 


316  WOOL-GATHERING. 

"  Eight  years  ago,"  said  the  preacher  in  ear- 
splitting  tones,  "  I  was  stationed  here.  What 
a  difference  between  then  and  now !  Now  we 
can  come  to  meeting  and  go  anywhere.  Then 
if  I  stayed  out  late  I  was  in  danger  of  being 
taken  up.  If  I  was  out  to  evening  meeting 
after  ten  o'clock,  I  was  put  in  the  old  prison  and 
taken  before  Squire  Deeley,  Monday  morning,  and 
had  to  pay  five  dollars  and  FORTY-NINE  CENTS 
before  I  could  go  home  !  "  (Renewed  applause.) 
"  Then  they  talked  about  our  meetings  because 
we  made  such  a  growling  and  racket,  but  now" — 
(drowning  shouts)  —  "  political  smiles  and  bows, , 
and  it 's  all  right."  Then  he  gradually  drew 
away  from  politics  and  returned  to  religion  proper, 
assuring  his  hearers  with  great  force,  and  not 
without  eloquence,  that  "  there  is  no  other  name 
given  under  heaven  among  men  whereby  we  can 
be  saved,  not  Europe,  nor  Asia,  nor  Ameriky, 
nor  the  star-spangled  banner,  nor  any  other  ban 
ner,  but  the  blood-stained  banner  of  the  cross  !  " 

*• 

The    discourse   was    rambling   and   disconnected, 
but  no  more  so  than  the  address  of  any  illiter 
ate  and  unthinking  man  might  have  been. 
I  went   afterwards   to  another   church   at   the 


WOOL-  GA  THE  RING.  3 1 7 

evening  service.  The  first  part  was  a  reli 
gious,  and  the  second  a  business  meeting.  The 
various  officers  of  the  church  handed  in  their 
reports,  which  seemed  to  be  minute  and  satis 
factory.  The  treasurer  reported  five  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  in  the  hands  of  the  trustees, 
and  three  hundred  and  fifty  in  those  of  the 
steward,  as  the  fund  for  church  support,  which 
is  certainly  a  very  fair  showing,  and  compares 
favorably  with  white  churches.  A  contribution 
of  about  twenty  dollars  was  called  for.  The 
box  is  not  passed  around,  but  laid  on  the  table, 
and  the  people  go  up  and  deposit  their  gifts  as 
the  spirit  moves  them,  and  different  hymns  are 
sung  till  the  work  is  over.  The  contributing  at 
this  time  went  on  very  briskly  at  first,  the  preach 
er  reporting  the  increasing  amount  from  time  to 
time.  As  it  began  to  slacken  he  interspersed 
explanatory  and  exhortatory  remarks.  "  Sixteen 
dollars.  It  may  not  be  perfectly  understood  what 
is  the  object  of  this  contribution,  and  I  will  there 
fore  say  it  is  to  make  out  the  last  quarter  of  your 
unworthy  servant's  salary.  Seventeen  dollars 
and  a  half.  I  would  say  to  all  of  you  that 
have  not  paid,  that  it  is  desirable  you  pay  quick. 


318  WOOL-GA  TIIERING. 

We  don't  want  it  dragging  along.  We  don't 
want  to  say  anything  more  about  it  than  is  ne 
cessary.  It  is  nineteen  dollars,  and  I  think  we 
had  better  stop.  We  don't  want  to  sing  for  a 
dollar."  But  the  people  kept  on  coming  till 
they  had  contributed  a  dollar  or  two  beyond 
the  required  sum,  and  were  cautioned  not  to 
be  too  generous ;  so  the  meeting  dissolved  in 
great  good  humor.  But  it  was  by  no  means 
an  exhibition  of  the  inability  of  the  African  race 
to  take  care  of  itself. 

Another  illustration  of  its  sagacity,  was  the 
story  that  came  to  me  from  a  colored  servant. 
He  was  a  fine-looking  young  man,  with  straight 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  At  the  North  he  would 
never  be  suspected  of  any  but  the  true  azure 
blood.  His  father  was  of  the  best  Virginia  stock. 
His  mother  was  a  slave,  and  served  as  cook  in  a 
restaurant  in  a  Southern  city.  When  Jack  was 
a  year  old,  a  party  of  drunken  revellers  at  the 
restaurant  were  attracted  by  his  cries  as  he  lay 
in  the  cradle,  and  in  a  fit  of  maudlin  generosity 
they  contributed  fifty  dollars,  bought  him,  and 
presented  him  to  his  mother. 

Being  colored,  he   could  not  attend   school  in 


WOOL-GA  TIIE11ING.  319 

his  native  city ;  so  when  he  reached  his  boy 
hood,  he  went  to  Washington,  where  he  sub 
mitted  his  mind  to  six  months'  friction,  under 
adverse  circumstances,  and  became  a  scholar. 
His  mother  meanwhile  contracted  with  her  own 
er  for  her  freedom  for  a  stipulated  sum.  After 
paying  a  portion  of  that  from  her  small  savings 
during  several  years  of  hard  labor  as  a  slave, 
she  bethought  herself  of  taking  advantage  of 
that  clause  in  the  Constitution  or  something  else 
which  provides  that  any  slave  remaining  in  the 
District  of  Columbia  for  a  year,  without  return 
ing  to  Old  Virginia,  becomes  thereby  free.  Ac 
cordingly  she  established  herself  in  Washington, 
and  by  a  judicious  system  of  scouting,  and  the 
advice  and  assistance  of  skilful  friends,  she  man 
aged  to  elude  the  affectionate  searches  of  her 
owner  through  the  specified  year,  and  became  at 
last  owner  of  herself  without  ever  paying  the  re 
mainder  of  the  debt.  Such  is  the  unsettled  state 
of  the  country  at  present,  and  the  unreconstructed 
condition  of  the  negro,  that  it  is  to  be  feared  she 
never  will  pay  it. 

Jack  next  apprenticed  himself  to  a  barber,  with 
whom  he  remained  until  twenty-one.     After  the 


320  WOOL-GATHERING. 

war  broke  out,  he  took  the  stump  in  meetings 
of  the  blacks  for  recruiting  soldiers  for  the  Union 
army.  He  did  this  with  the  expectation  and  the 
promise  of  a  Lieutenancy;  but  after  the  troops 
were  raised,  the  commanding  officers  of  the  regi 
ment  discovered  that  he  was  a  descendant  of 
Canaan,  and  he  was  denied  his  office.  During 
the  war  his  influence,  his  conversation,  and  his 
conduct  were  for  the  Union. 

All  this  while  his  deaf  and  dumb  sister  was 
the  property  of  a  lawyer  in  a  Virginia  village, 
who  retired  with  his  family  to  Richmond  when 
our  army  took  possession  of  the  village  and  the 
lines  of  the  Rebels  were  contracted.  With  the 
return  of  peace  this  man  returned  to  his  coun 
try  home.  From  that  place  Jack  first  heard 
of  his  sister,  although  he  had  vainly  tried  to 
learn  her  whereabouts  in  Richmond.  He  was 
told  that  she  was  inhumanly  treated  by  her 
owner,  and  he  immediately  obtained  a  writ 
ten  permission  from  the  proper  officer  of  the 
Freedman's  Bureau  that  his  sister  should  ac 
company  him,  if  she  chose,  to  Washington, 
and  an  order  from  that  officer  to  the  com 
mandant  of  the  post  at  the  village,  for  the  ne- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  321 

cessary  military  assistance  if  obstacles  were  in 
terposed  ;  the  next  morning  after  he  received 
his  information,  he  went  to  find  her.  When  she 
saw  him,  such  was  her  joy  that  she  fell  fainting 
into  his  arms. 

Her  former  owner  refused  to  allow  her  to  re 
turn  with  him.  The  commandant  of  the  post 
gave  him  a  sergeant  and  six  men  to  bring  her 
before  him,  and  allow  the  claimant  to  show  cause 
why  she  should  not  accompany  her  brother  to 
Washington.  The  case  was  heard  in  the  town 
hall,  and  Jack  conducted  it  himself. 

The  owner  admitted  that  the  effect  of  the 
Emancipation  Proclamation  was  the  destruction 
of  his  ownership,  but  claimed  a  contract  with 
her  for  a  year's  service,  which  had  just  begun. 

Jack  questioned  the  jurisdiction  of  the  com 
mandant  to  hear  and  determine  the  question 
of  contract,  calling  the  attention  of  the  officer 
to  the  fact  that  the  order  upon  him  from  his 
superior  was  to  remove  obstacles  to  the  visit  to 
Washington  of  his,  Jack's,  sister,  if  she  chose  to 
go ;  that  the  question  of  contract,  so  far  as  that 
tribunal  was  concerned,  was  not  at  issue. 

The  owner  then  argued  that  the  girl  was  born 
14*  u 


822  WOOL-GA  THEPJNG. 

in  his  family,  and  ought  to  be  strongly  attached 
to  it;  that  his  children  had  grown  up  with  her 
and  were  attached  to  her ;  that  she  had  been 
kindly  cared  for,  and  ought  not  to  think  of  leav 
ing  them  for  Washington ;  that  Jack  was  young 
and  could  not  support  her. 

Jack  replied,  that  it  was  not  a  question  of 
whether  he  could  support  her  or  not,  or  how 
she  ought  to  feel,  but  only  how  she  did  feel, 
what  she  did  want  to  do.  Did  she  want  to  go 
to  Washington  ?  If  she  did,  obstacles  were  to 
be  removed. 

The  owner  pleaded  that  Washington  was  a 
bad  place,  that  the  girl  while  in  his  family  had 
always  preserved  her  character  unsullied. 

Jack  was  indignant,  and  retorted  that  his  sis 
ter  was  as  safe  with  him,  her  kindred,  as  with 
others,  and  that  it  was  strange  if  the  daughter 
of  his  mother  could  not  keep  herself  unspotted ; 
that  the  simple  inquiry  should  be  whether  she 
wanted  to  go  to  Washington  or  not;  that  it 
was  a  question  to  be  submitted  to  her,  as  she 
alone  could  decide  it.  He  proposed  that  she 
should  be  placed  by  herself,  apart  from  the  crowd 
which  filled  the  room,  that  her  claimant  might 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  323 

address  his  deaf  and  dumb  alphabet  to  her  as 
long  as  he  chose,  and  he  would  abide  the  re 
sult. 

The  Court  believed  this  was  right,  and  or 
dered  the  trial.  The  claimant  twisted  his  fingers 
in  all  ways  conceivable  for  half  an  hour.  Jack 
twisted  his  half  a  minute,  and  she  rushed  across 
the  room  and  clung  about  his  neck.  The  case 
was  concluded,  the  audience  applauded.  To  the 
best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  there  was  some 
crying  in  the  room.  At  any  rate  the  Court  is 
sued  the  order,  and  the  claimant  retired  a  sadder 
and  a  wiser  man. 

Jack  and  sister  came  in  triumph  to  Washing 
ton,  and  the  night  of  their  coming  was  emphasized 
with  thanksgiving  and  praise  by  the  household 
and  its  neighbors. 

From  Washington  to  Gettysburg,  the  little  vil 
lage  that  sprang  suddenly  out  of  obscurity  into 
the  forefront  of  renown.  The  brilliant  sunshine 
that  has  attended  us  everywhere  does  not  fail 
ns  here,  and  the  village  lies  in  such  unbroken 
quiet  as  beseems  a  true  Dutch  borough.  How 
utterly  incredible  that  the  storm  of  war  should 


324  WOOL-GATHERING. 

have  roared  through  this  placid  valley!  How 
utterly  incongruous  the  boom  of  cannon  and  the 
rattle  of  musketry  with  the  gentle  sounds  of  vil 
lage  industry  and  burgher  thrift !  Yet  hither  the 
war  came,  surged  up  to  this  peaceful  inland  town, 
lifted  it  from  all  its  commonplace  surroundings, 
and  gave  it  forevermore  one  of  the  great  his 
toric  names.  Here  rebellion  reached  high-water 
mark,  and  receded  into  its  bottomless  pit.  But 
the  refluent  wave  left  wreck  and  refuse  which 
have  not  yet  passed  away.  The  country  roads 
in  all  directions  are  strewed  with  canteens, 
haversacks,  cartridge-boxes,  torn  shoes,  frag 
ments  of  clothing.  The  hills  are  sown  with 
bullets,  which  every  rain  reveals.  A  day  or  two 
before  our  visit,  a  little  girl  brought  to  one  of 
the  shops  six  pounds  of  bullets,  which  she  had 
picked  up  on  a  hillside  after  a  heavy  rain. 
There  are  a  few  houses  whose  walls,  doors,  and 
shutters  are  well  riddled  with  bullets,  but  such 
signs  of  conflict  are  far  more  rare  than  one 
would  suppose  possible  after  a  three  days'  fight. 
But  Gettysburg  was  not  the  object  of  the  strug 
gle,  and,  securely  nestled  between  her  hills,  with 
five  miles  of  battle  radiating  from  her,  the  bullets 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  325 

whizzed  and  whistled  over  her  head,  and  left  her 
for  the  most  part  unharmed.  It  is  significant 
of  the  difference  between  North  and  South,  that, 
while  the  latter  lies  desolate  as  the  war  left  it, 
this  little  neighborhood  has  speedily  recovered 
from  its  wounds.  Fences  are  rebuilt,  fields  cul 
tivated,  and  plenty  smiles  where  so  lately  war 
ravaged.  The  slope  of  Seminary  Ridge  is  green 
and  pleasant,  as  if  foot  of  Rebel  had  never  come 
over  it.  But  down  this  road  they  came,  having 
passed  around  the  town  to  enter  it  from  the 
north,  while  our  army  held  the  southern  ap 
proaches.  On  this  road  they  show  the  stone 
cottage  which  General  Lee  occupied  for  his  head 
quarters.  Not  far  away  General  Longstreet,  I 
think,  established  himself,  and  the  terrified  wo 
men  remained  in  their  house  during  the  whole 
of  the  first  day's  fight.  At  night  they  begged 
for  an  ambulance  to  take  them  back  into  the 
country  beyond  the  line  of  battle.  The  General 
assured  them  that  his  army  had  advanced  so  far 
that  they  were  already  out  of  the  line  of  battle, 
and  there  was  no  need  of  their  leaving  home. 
"  But  if  you  should  retreat,  General  ?  " 
"  Ah  !  Madam,  we  don't  intend  to  retreat !  " 


326  WOOL-GATHERING. 

Here  is  the  cupola  of  some  public  building, 
from  which  General  Lee  vainly  tried  to  overlook 
the  whole  field  of  what  was  to  be  his  defeat. 
The  hills  beyond  the  town  were  higher  than  any 
eminence  he  could  command,  and  those  hills,  in 
spite  of  'his  brave  and  desperate  charges,  re 
mained  in  the  possession  of  the  Union  army. 
Slowly  we  drive  along  the  public  roads,  across 
fields,  into  lanes,  quiet  by-ways  that  seem  made 
for  the  tinkling  of  cow-bells  and  the  bleating 
of  lambs,  and  that  must  have  been  surprised  at 
strange,  heavy  gun-carriages  jolting  along  their 
ruts.  We  follow  the  course  of  the  advancing 
Rebels  as  they  press  back  our  troops  through 
the  village.  Some  of  our  treasured  legends 
meet  rough  usage  at  the  village  hands.  John 
Burns,  the  veteran  hero,  turns  into  a  grouty 
old  man,  who  went  out  with  his  gun  more  to 
spite  his  wife  than  to  save  his  country,  —  and 
"  Sweet  Jenny  Wade "  is  a  rank  Secessionist, 
who  got  no  more  than  her  deserts.  I  only  tell 
such  tales  as  were  told  to  me,  vouching  for 
nothing.  Not  far  away  is  the  big  rock  where 
General  Meade  established  his  head-quarters  when 
driven  from  the  cottage  by  the  roadside.  Gulp's 


WOOL-GA  THER1NG.  327 

Hill  we  climb  on  our  own  feet,  and  wander 
among  the  trees,  behind  the  rough,  rambling 
breastwork  of  stones  and  poles.  The  grove  on 
the  hillside  is  torn  by  shot  and  shell  beyond 
even  Nature's  recuperative  power,  and  it  stands 
stiff  and  stark,  —  a  dead  grove,  —  a  leafless, 
phantom  wood,  —  strange,  sad  monument  of  the 
terrible  conflict.  Beyond  is  Little  Round  Top, 
rough  and  straggling,  and  heaped  with  rocks, 
in  whose  crevices  may  lie  for  years,  for  aught  we 
know,  the  bones  of  those  who  fell  fighting  in 
the  good  cause,  —  for  the  rocks  hold  their  secret 
well.  From  its  summit  we  look  down  into  the 
valley  where  the  slaughter  was  so  great  that 
they  call  it  still  the  Valley  of  Death.  Here 
we  have  another  illustration  of  the  disadvan 
tage  under  which  the  enemy  labored,  in  never 
being  able  to  command  a  view  of  his  whole 
battle-field.  Supposing  the  woods  below  to  ex 
tend  nearly  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  ordered 
an  advance.  But  between  woods  and  hill  is 
this  valley,  treacherous  with  meadow-land,  and 
traversed  by  a  little  brook,  which  still  further 
impeded  the  progress  of  his  troops.  On  this 
low  land  the  exposed  soldiers  were  but  a  mark 


328  WOOL-GATHERING. 

for  our  fire,  and  the  slaughter  was  fearful.  Most 
interesting  of  all  is  Cemetery  Hill,  so  fortunate 
ly  possessed  by  our  men,  so  impetuously  sought 
by  the  foe.  Yet  marks  of  the  conflict  are  sur 
prisingly  few.  A  torn  paling  here  and  there  is 
seen,  but  only  a  single  stone  in  the  grave-yard 
is  broken,  and  that  is  one  erected  in  memory 
of  a  soldier  killed  at  Fair  Oaks.  The  National 
Cemetery  is  joined  to  the  village  bury  ing-ground, 
and  here  the  States  far  and  near  have  gathered 
their  dead,  and  laid  them  to  rest  on  the  field 
of  their  fame.  There  is  another  memory  here, 
scarcely  less  sacred  than  theirs,  —  the  memory 
of  the  beloved  President,  the  nation's  last  and 
costliest  sacrifice.  Here,  where  the  struggle  cul 
minated,  where  the  victory  was  won,  though  all 
unknown  to  victor  and  vanquished,  here  the 
President  proclaimed  its  righteous  object,  — 
"  That  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a 
new  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  government  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people 
shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 

The  little  country  inn  is  something  delightful 
in  these  days  of  big  hotels.     The  landlord  is  a 


WOOL-GATHERING.  329 

pleasant-faced,  quiet,  benevolent  old  gentleman, 
who  wins  your  confidence  at  once.  The  laud- 
lady  is  active,  but  not  bustling,  easy,  shrewd, 
and  self-possessed.  They  have  reason  to  re 
member  the  invasion  of  Pennsylvania,  for  their 
own  house  was  one  of  the  first  invaded.  "  They 
rushed  in,"  she  says,  "  asking,  4  Where  is  Mr. 
Smith  ?  '  " 

"  '  What  do  you  want  of  Mr.  Smith  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  We  want  to  take  him  to  Richmond  with  us.' 

"  '  Indeed,'  says  I,  *  it 's  after  this  I  'm  thinking 
Mr.  Smith  will  go  to  Richmond  with  a  dirty, 
greasy  Rebel !  I  'd  think  it  a  disgrace !  ' 

"  How  did  they  look  ?  "   we  ask. 

"  O,  the  dirtiest,  filthiest,  raggedest  set  you 
ever  saw  in  your  life." 

"  How  did  they  know  anything  about  Mr. 
Smith  ?  " 

"  Some  of  the  citizens,  Copperheads,  told  them. 
He  was  a  Union  man,  and  known." 

"  Was  he  in  the  house  when  they  were  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was  stowed  away  safe  enough.  But 
they  kept  coming.  They  said  they  had  been 
told  General  Meade  had  his  head-quarters  here. 
4  No,'  says  I,  4  he  's  got  no  head-quarters  here. 


330  WOOL-GATHERING. 

He  has  no  time  to  stay  long  anywhere.  He 
is  just  up  to  taking  care  of  you.'  O,  I  was 
just  as  saucy  all  day,  but  I  was  mute  enough 
at  night.  They  were  in  and  out  all  night.  I 
had  my  window  open,  and  I  heard  one  of  the 
officers  say,  '  Boys,  go  into  that  front  door  and 
take  all  you  can  find.'  I  went  down  stairs  with 
a  candle  in  a  hurry.  They  had  come  into  the 
cellar  door,  and  the  room  was  full  of  them,  and 
the  passage-way. 

"  4  What  do  you  want,  gentlemen  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  We  want  to  go  over  the  house,  to  see  if 
there  is  any  Union  soldiers  secreted  here.' 

"'No,'  says  I,  'there  's  no  Union  soldiers  in 
the  house,  and  you  can't  go  over  it.' 

"  '  We  '11  go  up  stairs  and  take  a  look,'  says 
one  of  them. 

"  '  No,  you  can't  go  up  stairs,'  says  I,  '  for  I 
won't  let  you  !  ' 

"  Then  I  heard  one  of  them  behind  say,  '  Boys, 
let  's  go,  and  leave  the  lady  be.' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  that 's  just  what  I  want  you 
to  do.' 

"  They  hesitated,  and  I  says  to  the  one  that 
spoke,  '  Come,  you  go  on,  and  the  rest  will 


WOOL-GA  THERING.  331 

follow/  So  they  just  paddled  down  the  cellar 
stairs  again,  and  I  after  them  with  the  candle. 
They  never  spoke  a  saucy  word  to  me,  —  not 
one,  the  whole  time.  They  would  do  anything 
for  a  woman.  If  Mr.  Smith  had  been  here  we 
should  have  fared  hard.  Only  there  was  one 
of  them  who  was  drunk.  He  turned  round  as 
he  was  going  out  and  shook  his  finger  under 
my  nose.  He  was  so  near  he  almost  touched  it. 
*  Did  n't  we  whip  you  well  to-day  ?  '  says  he. 

" '  I  don't  know,'  says  I,  '  we  have  n't  heard 
from  our  men.  Perhaps  they  will  tell  a  differ 
ent  story.' 

" '  O,'  says  he,  'we  whipped  you  well,  and  we  '11 
whip  you  worse  to-morrow,  and  Saturday  '11  be 
the  worst  Fourth  of  July  you  ever  spent  in  your 
life  ! '  But  he  was  drunk. 

"Later  in  the  night  another  regiment  came 
in.  They  went  into  the  cellar  to  find  the  liquor. 
I  told  them  the  liquor  was  all  gone,  and  I  was 
glad  of  it.  They  thought  they  would  just  take 
a  look.  '  Take  as  many  looks  as  you  like,' 
says  I,  'you  '11  find  no  liquor.'  They  found 
all  the  fish,  and  carried  that  out  and  ate  it. 
They  destroyed  pretty  much  everything  there 


332  WOOL-GA  THE  RING. 

was  in  the  basement.  That  was  all  the  mis 
chief  they  did.  I  told  them,  says  I,  '  You  've 
been  tormenting  me  ever  since  you  Ve  been  in 
town.  Now  don't  stay  round  all  night.  Leave 
the  house  quiet,  so  I  can  get  a  little  rest.' ' 
"  Did  they  plunder  the  village  much  ?  " 
44  Yes,  they  took  clothes,  furniture,  glass,  furs, 
parasols,  everything  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on.  There  was  no  reason  in  them.  Things  they 
did  n't  want  and  could  n't  do  anything  with.  It 
was  the  comicalest  sight.  I  saw  a  man  going 
along  that  hot  day  with  a  great  fur  tippet  round 
his  neck.  They  'd  wear  the  things  and  carry 
them  till  they  were  tired,  and  then  just  throw 
them  away.  Nice  China  dishes,  and  all  sorts  of 
things,  you  could  find  out  in  the  fields,  and  un 
der  the  walls,  where  they  had  dropped  them." 
44  Was  there  any  actual  fighting  near  you  ?  " 
44  O  yes  !  't  was  terrible.  The  cannon  kept 
roaring  all  day  long,  and  day  after  day.  O,  it 
was  so  delightful  to  wake  up  Saturday  and  not 
hear  it,  —  and  minute  after  minute  it  did  not  be 
gin.  It  was  just  like  one  peal  of  heavy  thunder 
all  day.  There  was  nine  dead  bodies  right  out 
here  on  our  sidewalk.  They  could  not  do  any- 


WOOL-GATHERING.  333 

thing  with  them.  They  just  picked  them  tip  out 
of  the  street  and  laid  them  on  the  sidewalk,  and 
there  they  had  to  stay  till  the  battle  was  over, 
and  our  people  carried  them  away.  And  such 
warm  weather.  O,  it  was  dreadful !  And  they 
died  in  such  full  health.  There  were  eight 
thousand  killed  those  three  days,  and  not  one 
buried  till  the  fighting  was  over.  And  it  takes 
some  time  then  to  bury  eight  thousand  men. 
As  much  as  three  miles  out,  it  was  horrible. 
There  was  one  gentleman  away  from  home  at 
the  time.  His  farm  was  within  the  line  of  bat 
tle.  He  could  n't  get  back  for  ten  days  after 
the  battle,  and  then  he  could  n't  step  foot  on 
his  farm  only  one  little  corner  of  it.  The  dead 
were  buried  in  his  garden  and  anywhere.  A 
good  many  people  went  into  their  cellars  to  get 
away  from  the  shells.  There  was  one  family 
just  baking,  —  they  had  got  their  bread  into 
the  oven,  and  they  hated  to  leave  it ;  but  the 
soldiers  told  them  to  go  down  cellar  and  they 
would  see  to  the  bread.  So  when  the  bread 
was  done  they  had  it  down  there,  and  the  sol 
diers  would  rush  down  and  get  a  piece  of  tread 
and  butter,  and  rush  back  again." 


334  WO  OL-GA  THERING. 

"  How  did  you  first  hear  that  the  Rebels  were 
defeated  ?  " 

"  It  was  in  the  night.  I  heard  this  noise,  and 
I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window,  and  there 
was  the  street  just  full  of  men.  The  officers 
were  riding  up  and  down,  but  there  was  n't  a 
word  said,  only  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  all  the  time. 
I  waked  up  Mr.  Smith,  and  says  I,  'Behold, 
for  the  men,'  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  it,  he  said, 
to  be  sure,  it  was  a  retreat.  We  could  n't  hardly 
believe  it.  They  were  so  sure.  One  of  the 
houses  where  the  family  had  stayed  in  the  midst 
of  the  battle,  the  General  came  in  and  got  ready 
to  leave.  '  Good  by,  ladies,'  says  he,  '  you  're 
what  we  call  plucky.' ' 

"  You  must  have  had  a  good  deal  of  work  on 
your  hands  after  the  battle." 

"  O  yes !  there  was  everything  to  be  done, 
but  there  was  everybody  to  do  it.  Everything 
was  done  for  the  wounded  that  could  be  done. 
Doctors  and  nurses  came  in  from  all  parts  of 
the  country.  The  Rebels  were  taken  care  of 
just  as  well  as  our  men.  They  told  about  the 
Gettysburg  people  not  doing  anything,  but  it  is 
not  true.  They  did  all  they  could  do." 


WOOL-GATHERING.  335 

From  Gettysburg  the  distances  begin  to  short 
en,  the  houses  cluster  into  villages,  the  villages 
crystallize  into  cities,  and  we  are  back  once  more 
in  New  England,  —  rock-bound,  frost-bound  New 
England,  home  of  the  East  Wind,  of  small-fisted 
farmers,  and  strong-minded  women,  and  the  Mu 
tual  Admiration  Society,  and  the  countless  brood 
of  heterodoxies  in  religion  and  politics,  but  — 
New  England ! 

About  the  sheep-money,  do  you  care  to  know? 
In  truth  I  had  little  to  count  in  solid  coin,  for 
all  my  wool-gathering ;  but  I  brought  home  a 
Golden  Fleece. 

And  yet,  O  Reader,  gentle  but  just,  if  you 
should  whisper  that  there  is  great  cry  and  little 
wool,  —  alas !  I  cannot  gainsay  you. 


THE  END. 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY  r 
BERKELJ^ 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 


• 


'D  LD 


''         •  •'  •'     -  .  •- 

CLF  (N)j 


.1-  ,-, 


2  7  1968  rf 
REC'OLD    MAR  2  2 


72  -12  PWi  1  5 


NV 


LD  21-100m-9,'48(B399sl6)476 


••;, 


